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THE 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



PRINTED BY NUTTALL AND HODGSON 
(Successors to Mr. Elierton), 
GOTJGH SQUARE, LONDON. 



THE 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



FRANCIS THEREMIN, D.D., 

CHAPLAIN TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF PRUSSIA ; MEMBER OF THE 
SUPREME COXSISTORY, &C. &C. 



BY 

SAMUEL JACKSON, Esq. 
LONDON: 

B. WERTHEIM, 14 PATERNOSTER ROW. 

J. XISBET AND CO., BERXERS STREET. 
CHELTENHAM : W. WIGHT. 
MDCCCXXXVIII. 




3 



FROM 



THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



In the following pages, I have attempted to 
describe the commencement and progress of the 
Christian faith and life in the experience of an indi- 
vidual. In doing so, I have proceeded upon the 
conviction, that faith is not attained by the con- 
sideration of arguments for or against the Divine 
origin of Christianity ; but that urged by an inward 
feeling of necessity which cannot be repulsed, and 
guided by a gracious Providence, w 7 e apprehend and 
receive that w T hich God has revealed and appointed 
for the salvation of mankind ; and that an insight 
into the nature of faith is obtained only through 
the possession of the latter. 

Divine grace, which is the sole agent of human 
conversion, takes pleasure in accomplishing its 
object in the greatest possible variety of methods - 7 
all of w 7 hich, however, agree with each other in the 
principal points. It has been my endeavour, in the 



vi THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

present work, to pourtray the guidance of an indi- 
vidual, in which the chief points of the guidance of 
others are included. 

The first feelings of repentance are very rarely 
the most profound. There are those who truly 
believe, and yet have never become sufficiently ac- 
quainted with their innate depravity. The con- 
sciousness of this could indeed scarcely be borne, 
were it to be felt in all its dreadful extent, and did 
not the degree of faith, already possessed by the 
individual, support him under it. Some acquire 
this knowledge, without having fallen into gross 
sin, by comparing their hearts and lives with the 
example of Christ 5 others by the grief they feel at 
their great transgressions, and the dreadful conse- 
quences of the latter, which suddenly manifest 
themselves to their view. The real penitential con- 
flict now begins, in which faith has to overcome the 
terrors of conscience, and in which it conquers only 
by the entire renunciation of its own merits. The 
merits of Christ can now be apprehended in reality, 
and the meaning of redemption understood. 

He that wishes to describe the life of God in the 
soul, must necessarily borrow its individual features 
from experience. From what other source can he 



the author's preface. vii 

become acquainted with them ? Things of this 
nature cannot be invented. The case is different 
with respect to facts and individuals. Were we to 
borrow these from the reality, in writing a history 
like the present, we should deserve to be censured 
both in a moral and poetical point of view. I 
assert, that I would never have undertaken a work 
of this kind, or would have lost all desire to do so, 
had I been compelled tediously to collect the mate- 
rials from real life, instead of producing them in my 
mind, and forming them at my pleasure. Nor do 
I regard it as anything very honourable to be sup- 
posed to be in possession of the ability requisite 
for this purpose 5 for, in reality, more warmth of 
imagination is necessary for the composition of a 
single discourse, in which human life is strikingly 
and energetically pourtrayed, than is perhaps to be 
found in the whole of this book. 



THE 

CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER I. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Uth Feb. 1826, 

Before you receive this letter I shall have left 
Switzerland, and set my foot on German ground. 

I could stay no longer in my native land. The 
death of my parents, which dissolved the closest ties 
that attached me to it, put me at the same time in pos- 
session of considerable property. Until I finally re- 
solve upon seeking some official situation, and suffer 
myself to be fettered by civil obligations, I do not 
know that I can spend my time better than in travel- 
ling ; by which means I hope to gain that experience 
and polish, which can never be attained by remaining 
at home. 

I had to choose between Italy, France, England, 
and Germany, or rather, the whole world lay before 

B - . - 



10 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



me ; however I gave the preference to Germany. My 
father was born there, and had there acquired that 
mental culture and extensive knowledge, to which my 
education is so much indebted. Even as my mother, 
who was a native of France, taught me her language, 
and spoke it with me — so my father taught me Ger- 
man, and conversed with me in it ; and as the 
Swiss, at least with reference to language and litera- 
ture, cannot possess a character of their own, but 
must either assume that of the German or the 
French, my father endeavoured, through the 
whole course of my education, to give the former the 
preponderance in me ; and it appears tome that he 
succeeded in his object. 

I acquired, in the most eminent institutions in 
Switzerland, those intellectual attainments, by which 
the individual is prepared for the service of the church 
and the state, or for the cultivation of the sciences in 
that country. My father thought highly of these ac- 
quirements ; and although, in his opinion, education, 
with reference to its extent, was superior in Germany, 
yet he esteemed its solidity in its narrower sphere. 
The deficiencies which might occur, he expected to 
be able to supply from that acquaintance with German 
literature which he early procured me. The works of 
those poets who were celebrated in Germany, were 
read both by him and myself with delight ; and even 
in the German prose writers, although their language 



LETTER I. 



did not always seem to him to possess the perfection 
of French prose, he taught me to admire the depth of 
thought and feeling peculiar to that people. Hence 
the idea very naturally suggested itself to me, to de- 
vote some years to the exclusive study of German li- 
terature ; and in the fulfilment of this intention, my 
father will certainly feel satisfied, if, where he is, sym- 
pathy with the efforts of mortals be still felt. 

But what am I saying ? Pardon me, my dear 
friend, for having endeavoured to deceive you ! You 
must do so ; for I undertook likewise to deceive my self. 
Away with the delusion ! I must confess, that the 
reason which chives me from my native land, lies 
deeper — much deeper than I wished to make you and 
myself believe ; but it is also, alas ! something of a 
much less innocent nature. You, my dear friend, 
neither know me, nor my earlier connections ; and 
since you have never visited my native town, that which 
is there related of me has never reached your ears. 
You perhaps too hastily bestowed your heart and your 
friendship upon me, after the few happy days I spent 
at your house. Ah, I probably do not deserve so 
valuable a gift ! Is it because I am inwardlv conscious 
of something that is evil, base, and vicious ? Bv no 
means. From my earliest years, people thought thev 
observed in me the rudiments of moral goodness ; and 
I was told that I possessed a gentle, noble, and ex- 
cellent disposition. This I believed, and believe it 
b 2 



12 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



still. But whence is it that my practice has been so 
much worse than my natural disposition ? The yen- 
feelings, to which I thought I could give myself up 
without reserve, because I regarded them as the best 
and the noblest that 1 possessed, have plunged me into 
innumerable errors, and have been the cause of accu- 
mulating inexpressible sorrowupon others whom I love. 

Do not, however, expect me to enter into the detail 
of these aberrations : such a confession only becomes 
one who has compensated for his errors by brilliant 
virtues. I will not make the paper blush — which is 
able to do so, although the contrary is asserted — still 
less my friend. I will only mention thus much : by a 
passion which I did not suppress, which I confessed, 
and which was unfortunately reciprocated — I destroyed 
the peace of an estimable family, embittered the last 
days of my mother, and prejudiced the minds of my 
fellow-townsmen against me. Being unable entirely 
to escape from myself and the remembrance of my er- 
rors, I am desirous of at least avoiding the place 
where I am incessantly reminded of the latter. I will 
seek that repose elsewhere, which I have trifled away 
in my native country ; and the occupation T require 
shall be afforded me by those labours which have been 
dear to me from my youth up ; and which, by means 
of the interest I take in them, may perhaps, for a short 
time, free my mind from the pain which at present 
corrodes it. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



13 



LETTER II. 

Tell me, my dearest friend, am I in the wrong in 
rinding myself depicted in Lord Byron's Childe 
Harold ? I presuppose the permission to compare 
the production of an amazing imagination, or such a 
characteristic individual — for the hero of the tale is no 
other than the poet himself — with the reality, which 
is always comparatively poor, or with my own poor 
self. Like this pilgrim, I am also about to leave my 
native land, in order to banish from my sight the 
traces of the life I there led. Like him, my intention 
is not so much outward enjoyment, as the escaping 
from myself. He has found in Greece an honourable 
death, in striving for that country's welfare, and rest 
for his spirit, which was equally tormented by its 
greatness and its weakness : what shall I find ? — ■ 
perhaps repose ; but how ? 

W mere do we discover an outlet, after having once 
lost ourselves in the windings of this poem, which are 
like the mazy walks in a labyrinth of melancholy — - 
where every joy leads to grief, and every sorrow to 
still deeper woe ? This spirit, which brings before 



14 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



our eyes the entire glories of a world in the mourning 
dress of that conniption to which it is destined ; this 
spirit — and I have never been able to read it without 
horror — is occasionally affected by something like a 
wish for annihilation : — 

" Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest. 
But silence spreads the couch of ever-welcome rest.'' 

Yet better feelings again burst forth in the follow- 
ing strophe, which I read with indescribable satisfac- 
tion, because the poet himself appears so noble and 
amiable in it, and also because it contains the expres- 
sion of my own sentiments, inasmuch as I have never 
doubted, nor been able to doubt, the immortality" of 
the soul : — 

Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be 

A land of souls beyond that sable shore. 
To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 

And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ; 

How sweet it were in concert to adore. 
With those who made our mortal labours light ! 

To hear each voice we feared to hear no more/' 

How pleasing and friendly does the description of 
the place begin, where Petrarch spent his latest years ; 
until the bright light is suddenly turned into blackest 
darkness, and we are rapidly led from the enj oyinents 
of earthly life to the brink of hell ! And is not such 
in reality the case ? — and can even the most cheerful 



I 



LETTER II. 



15 



object be contemplated without trembling at the horrid 
forms which soon emanate from it ? 

" And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt, 

Is one of that complexion which seems made 
For those who their mortality have felt, 

And sought a refuge, from their hopes decay'd, 
In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade ; 
Which shows a distant prospect far away 
Of busy cities, now in vain display'd ; 
For they can lure no further ; and the ray 
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday. 

Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, 

And shining in the brawling brook, where by 
Clear as the current glide the sauntering hours 

With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 

Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. 
If from society we learn to live, 

'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; 
It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give 
No hollow aid ; alone, man with his God must strive. 

Or it may be, with demons, who impair 

The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey 
In melancholy bosoms, such as were 

Of moody texture from their earliest day, 

And lov'd to dwell in darkness and dismay, 
Deeming themselves predestin'd to a doom 

Which is not of the pangs that pass away : 
Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, 
The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom." 

You are, perhaps, already weary of these quota- 
tions ; however, you must permit me to give you one 



16 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



more. During the whole of this day's journey, I have 
done nothing else but read this poem ; and now, on 
arriving at my lodging for the night, I cannot better em- 
ploy the hours, before retiring to rest, than by impart- 
ing my thoughts to you in those of the poet, since both 
are almost become one. He that is still able to love 
nature, and to find pleasure in her solitudes and re- 
pose in her wildernesses, gives us no cause for appre- 
hension. I will not speak of myself; although I have 
often sat for hours on the declivity of our mountains — 
above me, their snow-covered summits — before me, an 
abyss, and in its depths the thundering cataract ; how 
mournful, yet how soothing, how tranquil have I often 
felt in such a situation ! Have you read, in the life of 
Alfieri, how he swims into the sea, then places his 
back against a rock, turns his face towards the bil- 
lows, and contemplates their motion for hours toge- 
ther ? Hear Lord Byron : — 

" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on a lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not man the less, but nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 

From all I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.'* 



LETTER II. 



17 



I wish you a better night's rest, than I can expect ; 
for my head is heated, and my heart is melancholy. 
Why have I suffered myself to be so captivated by 
Byron ? My intention was to apply myself to Ger- 
man literature, 



18 



CONFESSIONS OP ADALBERT. 



LETTER III. 

The place from whence I at present address you, 
is a small town, where several eminent men reside. 
I visited them, and they gave me a description of the 
literary state of Germany ; in return, I was under 
the necessity of drawing a similar sketch, with respect 
to Switzerland. I could only feel grateful for such a 
friendly reception, but shall probably make no use of 
the permission they gave me to renew my visit. 

The weather, gloomy and tempestuous, as it may 
be expected to be at this season of the year, affords 
me no opportunity of making excursions into the 
circumjacent country, which, without possessing any- 
thing that is particularly striking, is said to be of a 
very friendly and pleasing character. I am not well, 
and on this account must keep my room. I there- 
fore walk up and down in it, sometimes stand at the 
window, and cast a look down into the wet and empty 
streets. Just now I took up the Spanish Don 
Quixote, which accompanied me on my journey, and 
thought to amuse myself with Sancho's entertaining 
conversations with his master. But such an indescri- 
bable pain proceeded from the centre of my heart, that 



LETTER III. 



19 



the page of the book I was reading at that moment 
will certainly never fail to point itself out to me by the 
gloomy colour which will ever adhere to it, and from 
the circumstance of my despondingly throwing it 
aside, in order to seek consolation in pouring out my 
heart to you, my beloved friend. 

I am now therefore divided from all those connec- 
tions which are dear to me ; and the whole of the 
earlier part of my life, which memory attaches so 
closely to my heart, must be torn away from it. It 
is not that I wish to recal what my conscience con- 
demns ; although — and I cannot deny it — in the 
storm and bitterness of passion, there lies a rapture 
which still smiles upon me. But does all that be- 
longed to me deserve to be thus thrown away, and 
for ever removed from me ? Yes, for ever ; for that 
which is once past occurs, not in the same manner 
again. "Were I now to return, though I have been 
absent only so short a time, I should find already 
another state of things. Did not I possess a native 
soil, on which I walked with the consciousness that 
my peculiar character and intellectual attainments 
were acquired there ? Had not I relatives and friends, 
and was not I able to rejoice all the day at the pros- 
pect of forming one of their cheerful circle in the 
evening ? My heart is rent, and is ready to bleed, 
that all this is gone, no more to return. 



20 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



You say it must bleed for the fault I have commit- 
ted. Alas, alas ! I am still so weak, that I am much 
more grieved at the loss of my happiness, than at the 
aberrations which have deprived me of it. 

To be alone ; to have no one who longs after us — 
none whom we desire ; to stand in no connection 
with the objects which pass before us, whether pleas- 
ing or painful ; to see before us no pleasing future, 
the realization of which, by the continuance of present 
feeling, might form one cheering whole ; to be ever 
looking back, with a fixed eye, upon the past, which 
is already dead, and regards us in return with a 
strange and spectral look, and to feel at every breath, 
and at every painful vibration of the heart, that it 
was, and is no more ; — what is this ? is it not hell 5 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



21 



LETTER IV. 

April, 1826. 

After having written to you thrice in a short space 
of time, and vainly expecting, for several months, an 
answer from you, I had already begun to repent of 
the importunity with which I had made you the 
confident of my sorrows. A letter from you has now 
withdrawn me from such painful reflections. Accept 
my most heartfelt thanks for the friendly, cordial, 
and yet powerful and manly sentiments expressed in 
it. You are astonished at my being able to conceal 
from you so much suffering, of which you had no 
idea. But, dearest friend, who has ever really known 
or been desirous of knowing, since the day of my 
birth, that which was passing within me ? I do not 
refer to you ; for what could you have asked me 
during our brief intercourse, or what could I have 
related to you in so short a space of time ? But 
besides yourself, none of my friends have sympathized 
with me, however gladly I would have listened to the 
effusions of their hearts. In consequence of this 
mdifference, I have been rendered timid, and have 
digested in my own heart that which took place 



22 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



there. Outwardly, I have assumed the appearance 
of having no heart, and have not ventured to show 
that I felt either pleasure or pain. How beneficial is 
it to my poor reserved heart to be permitted to speak ; 
and that you are wilhng to listen to it ! You shall 
know everything that I think and feel ; I will con- 
verse with you as with myself. 

There is a theatre of some note in this place, and 
I have visited it. The words drama and theatre I 
have never been able, since my infancy, to pronounce 
without enthusiasm. We sit before the veiled stage 
with the anticipation of all that is laughable, amiable, 
and sublime in character — all the wonderful sport of 
chance, and the dreadful catastrophes of fate, which 
will soon unfold themselves to our view. The curtain 
ascends ; and, behold ! in the midst of this every- day 
world, a new one, in which the quintessence of the 
former is compressed. And whilst looking into it 
with rapturous feelings, I possess, at the same time-, 
a social pleasure ; I find myself amongst a number of 
others, who have been brought to the place by a 
similar inclination, and all my sensations are height- 
ened, since so many others partake of them with me. 

Hitherto, I had only been present at a French 
theatre ; and although I was acquainted with the 
dramatic poesy of the Greeks, Spaniards, and Ger- 
mans, and was on my guard against overvaluing that 



LETTER IV. 



23 



of the French, yet I have always regarded it as a 
genuine fruit of the French character and spirit, and 
therefore as something laudable. In then tragedies, 
representation, passion, and decision of mind prevail, 
as in the people themselves ; the farce — for this must 
not be wanting in dramatic literature — interests us by 
its mirthfulness, wit, and, not unfrequently, by an 
inexhaustible comic humour. The pieces which he 
between these, present to us a spirited and well ex- 
ecuted picture of social life ; and the performance 
perfectly corresponds with these qualities. The feel- 
ings are not only intended to be touched and excited, 
but the demands of the understanding must be at- 
tended to as much as possible ; the excitement of the 
imagination is less to be considered. Every thing 
must proceed rapidly. The feelings once awakened, 
must not be suffered to cool : hence the scene con- 
tinues unchanged ; the curtain, after having been 
once drawn up, does not fall before the end of the 
piece ; the divisions of the intervening acts are 
indicated by a few strokes upon the violin ; the 
actors manifest, if net always genius, yet generally 
diligence, emulation, refinement, and social polish ; 
the auditory, attentive, susceptible, easily excited, not 
unfrequently restless and passionate, continues in con- 
stant and lively reciprocity of feeling with them ; and 
each spectator, although he may not be tasting any 



24 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



particular enjoyment of art, is notwithstanding en- 
gaged for some hours in a manner which is pleasing 
to him. 

How very different, said I to myself, on my arrival 
here — how very different to the pleasure I felt in the 
French theatre — will be the rapture which awaits me 
in the German ! There I shall see the chef-d'ceuvres 
of Schiller; and many of Shakspeare's tragedies, which 
are so nearly allied to the spirit of the Germans, and 
so admirably translated by them, that they seem to 
belong to their literature ! Whole weeks, however, 
passed away ; not one of Schiller's or Shakspeare's 
pieces was given ; and I was at length obliged to go 
to the theatre at a venture. 

I went thither rather early, and saw the people 
assemble. Their disturbance and movements seemed 
at an end as soon as they had taken their places, and 
there were no further signs of a lively interest ob- 
servable in them. The piece, indeed, was not calcu- 
lated to produce the latter, any more than the actors ; 
who, although not deficient in talent, were wanting in 
tact, energy, and due instruction, and pleased me 
the less, because, to judge from their self-complacency 
and affected tone, they were uncommonly well 
pleased with themselves. From the stage, which 
did not present any thing very rational, I sometimes 
cast a look upon the ranks of the spectators , behind 



LETTER IV. 



25 



me. There they sat, perfectly grave, without giving 
anv sign of approbation or displeasure ; and the ques- 
tion naturally occurred to me, why they came thither ? 
Could not each of them have had more enjoyment at 
home ? If any thing like interest had been excited 
at the end of an act, there was an abundance of time, 
in the long space between the falling of the curtain 
and its being drawn up again, for the spectators to 
forget what they had seen, and to assume a com- 
pletely different tone of mind. A ballet followed the 
comedy. The dancers were utterly incapable of 
exciting any interest in me. I constantly thought 
within myself, ' These are probably very good domes- 
tic characters and felt constrained to lament with 
them the necessity which compelled them to dance, 
and do that for which they did not seem constructed. 

I know not what sort of evil spirit has taken up his 
abode in this theatre. All the painful feelings, remi- 
niscences, and cares, from which I had hoped to 
escape, crowded forth in the frequent moments of 
listlessness and tedium, in order to steal into and 
torment my mind. The feeling of disgust and vexa- 
tion with which I saw the building empty itself, the 
lamps extinguished which had given light to the flimsv 
amusement, the people depart as indifferent as thev 
came, and with which I returned to my lonely room 
at the inn— I cannot describe. And then to reflect 
c 



26 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



that the same thing which occasioned me such dis- 
agreeable feelings that evening, was continually re- 
peated on a larger scale ; that even in the world, and 
that which is connected with it, people crowd, press, 
and push one another, until they have found a place 
where they can conveniently settle themselves ; that 
those who appear upon the stage, and are enveloped 
in the tinsel of fame and grandeur, feel, in fact, much 
more uncomfortable than those who sit below them ; 
that the whole terminates with mutual dissatisfaction 
and thorough disgust ; that the lights are then ex- 
tinguished, and every one goes home in the dark, the 
darkness of death, to his grave ! — as I to my room, 
where my wax taper shone upon me like a sepul- 
chral lamp upon the lonely corpse ! 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



-27 



LETTER V. 

Although none of Schiller's tragedies have hitherto 
been given, yet there have been such as were per- 
formed with enthusiasm by the actors, and by which 
the audience seemed also to be captivated ; which, 
I must confess, have even affected and excited me — 
tragedies in which, beside the visible performers, an 
invisible actor, often spoken of under the name of Fate, 
seems to play his part ; and who is generally repre- 
sented on the stage itself by a dagger introduced in a 
screen — tragedies, in which it might be apprehended 
that the stage could transform itself into a scaffold, 
and which, for the satisfaction of the spectators, would 
at least end with the suicide of the principal charac- 
ters. 

Whilst occupied with these reflections, I was seated 
close to a neatly dressed young man of good figure, 
who, as I afterwards learned, was either a councillor 
of finance or of justice, and who not unfrequently looked 
at me, in order to read in my eyes the reflection of 
his transports ; and who might in fact have found 
something of a similar nature in them. Thus we be- 
came acquainted, and I gladly agreed to his proposi- 



28 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



tion to sup together, after the play, at a restaurateur's. 
That which we had just been witnessing, naturally be- 
came the subject of conversation during our meal. 

After having paid a due tribute of approbation to 
the actors, the well-sounding verses, and the single, 
surprising, and affecting scenes, my new acquaintance 
began, with considerable animation, as follows : — 

"But that which delights me most in this tragedy, 
and in some others which are written in the same spi- 
rit, is, that they restore to us so completely, and I 
might almost say in a superior light, the spirit of Gre- 
cian tragedy, which is in reality the spirit of the whole 
species.'' 

" And what is that ? " inquired I. 

" What else," replied he, " than Fate ; which, by 
strange associations, carries men away to the com- 
mission of crimes, and plunges the innocent with the 
guiltv into one common destruction." 

" The Germans," rejoined I, " have attained to such 
a thorough knowledge of Grecian antiquity, that they 
certainly understand the fundamental ideas of the 
Grecian works of art, and particularly of their trage- 
dies, better than is elsewhere the case. However, I 
should not like to adduce, as a proof of this, the idea 
of fate as represented in the piece the performance 
of which we have just witnessed." 

■ c Why not ? " asked he. 



LETTER V. 



29 



(i Because it is by no means necessary, either in 
that individual piece, or in tragedy generally. Place 
persons of decided character and violent passions in 
situations, which present insurmountable obstacles to 
that which they so violently and obstinately de- 
sire, and let these passions struggle with the circum- 
stances in which the individual is placed ; this struggle 
is tragedy, and there is no need of the introduction of 
fate into the piece." 

" You are still standing/' replied the young coun- 
cillor, " on the subordinate footing of French tragedy. 
We Germans have elevated ourselves to a higher one. " 

" And then, " continued I, " I am ignorant why any 
mention should be made of fate in tragedies, since it 
is spoken of no where else, and believed by no one^ 
The Greeks believed in an obscure power, which 
ruled over gods and men ; and tragedy — this repre- 
sentation of human life in its most exalted references 
—would not have satisfied them, if that idea had not 
been introduced. But this idea no longer predominates 
in. the minds of men. The poet believes in it as little 
as his auditory ; then why call it forth ? " 

" There you are under a mistake," said the young- 
councillor; i( there are many who now believe in it. 55 
Whilst he was uttering what follows, during which he 
elevated his voice more than was necessary, I was not 
a little embarrassed, on observing how those who were 



30 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



supping in the same room directed their eyes to the 
f; little table in the corner " at which we were sitting, 
and began to listen to our conversation, <f Do you 
know," continued he. ff that German poesy has aban- 
doned that common and vulgar way of representing 
only that which is visible and finite, and in happy con- 
nection with philosophy, which simultaneously awoke 
with it, has elevated itself to that which is infinite, 
which extends and rules over all things.'' 5 

<: Bv that which vou call infinite. inquired I, in as 
low a tone as possible. (i do you mean God, or some 
thing else ? 55 

God, to be sure/' answered the former ; (: that is, 
that which ought always to have been called God ; that 
unity of tilings, which, bound by no personality, pro- 
duces all things, and draws them back into itself with 
an iron necessity. In the Jewish and Christian reli- 
gion, this sublime idea has descended to the vulgar 
conceptions of men, and transformed itself into a hu- 
manly personal and susceptible God ; although it can- 
not be denied, that in the history of the New Testa- 
ment the sway of this universal principle is often re- 
presented in stinking allegories." 

" The history of the New Testament, " answered I. 
4> ' is either true or false. I will not decide the point : 
but I never thought that it was to be regarded as a mere 
allesrorv 



LETTER V 



31 



Meanwhile, a man of about thirty years of age. who 
had something bold and daring in his look, approached 
our table from one of the others, and said to the coun- 
cillor, whilst clapping him on the shoulder, in a more 
ironical than friendly tone, <( Do you know, friend, that 
you are reviewed ? " 

The councillor, concerning whom I thus unexpect- 
edly heard that he was a writer and a poet, shrank to- 
gether at tliis salutation; and inquired, with a tran- 
sient blush, where his book had been reviewed, and 
whether favourably or not ? 

A conversation now commenced between the coun- 
cillor and the other, by means of which I became 
acquainted with the chief of the reviewing establish- 
ments in Germany, the number of which is not small ; 
the parties into which the writers of the present day 
are divided ; and their reciprocal bitterness, to which 
they not unfrequently give vent by criticising each 
other. The councillor, whose work had been reviewed, 
attacked criticism in general. The reviewer took it 
under his protection, and said, (i "What would litera- 
ture be without criticism ? You must at least confess, 
that our journals are the safest barrier which we can 
oppose to the religious enthusiasm which is so 
current/' 

During this conversation, which became very ani- 



32 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



mated by means of the wine, which was frequently 
called for by both, I left them ; and was glad, in the 
solitude of my apartment, gradually to recover from 
the disordered state of feeling in which it had placed 

me. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



33 



LETTER VI. 

Having found no gratification at the theatre, I have 
entirely ceased visiting it. My life is consequently 
become still more solitary; I scarcely ever appear 
amongst men. "When anxiety and uneasiness do not 
seize me — which is frequently the case during the 
day — and drive me up and down the streets, until the 
inward tumult subsides through bodily weakness- — I 
am constantly in my apartment, occupied with re- 
perusing the German poets I am already acquainted 
with, by turns. 

My state at the time I first knew them was very 
different from what it is at present. My mind was 
then tranquil ; I was satisfied with my situation and 
my efforts ; my mode of life had something fixed and 
settled. Poesy was added to it as a crown, as an orna- 
ment, and an embellishment. It gave a higher im- 
petus to my feelings, and imparted a sweet longing to 
my heart ; more I did not desire, and this it yielded 
me. I now expect very different things from it : 
poesy and poets are to recompense me for what I 
have lost ; are to furnish a firm basis for my anxious 
and vacillating existence ; and yet even Goethe and 



34 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



Schiller — the greatest of them, and the two whom I 
most admire — are certainly unable to afford it me. 

Many a poem delights me still, as in former times ; 
less, indeed, from the impression it at present pro- 
duces, than from the remembrance of that which I felt 
on reading it in earlier and better times, when I was 
in a more susceptible state. 

Schiller satisfies me the most. I do not, indeed, 
find in him what I require ; but he is at least ac- 
quainted with that feeling of joylessness which preys 
upon me, and gives it the most dignified and sublime 
expression. He also seeks to satisfy the hunger of 
his soul by his esteem for morality, his study of the 
arts and sciences, and by a grave and melancholy re- 
flection upon earthly things. I know not whether this 
was able to satisfy such a profound mind, and such a 
sublime spirit as his ; I only know that it does not 
satisfy me, and that his harmonious verses, in which 
he sets before me these specious consolations, leave 
my heart as empty as before. 

I have also diligently studied Goethe. Do not ex- 
pect me to lay before you a general and impartial 
view of his talents, their direction, and the works 
they have produced. A free and tranquil mind is re- 
quisite for such an undertaking ; and this I do not 
possess. That enthusiasm, without which one ought 
never to speak of a distinguished individual and his 



LETTER VI. 



3.3 



works, is requisite. This enthusiasm, which I for- 
merly felt, now begins to fail me ; my heart becomes 
increasingly aged and unsusceptible ; and in this state 
Goethe's excellent poems pass over it without leaving 
any impression. If I took a pleasure and found satis- 
faction in the world, the pursuits of mankind, the 
rapture and the pain of passion, I should know how 
to appreciate a poesy in which everything that is 
earthly presents itself to me in such clear and vivid 
colours. But I have fallen out with the world, my 
dearest friend, and find no gratification in it, even 
when Goethe himself brings it in review before me, 
Of all his writings, his Faustus alone has this time 
extremely affected me ; and I have perceived the awful 
depth of that poem which was formerly concealed 
from me. You have jested in a friendly manner at 
my comparing myself with Childe Harold, and have 
called it a melancholy error. Reprove now, instead of 
joking ; call it, if you will, a devilish idea ; but I can- 
not avoid feeling it, and consequently mentioning it 
to you. There is something of Faustus in me. But, 
after having tasted all this, and found nothing that 
affords satisfaction, must one necessarily finish with 
throwing one's self into the arms of the devil ? Is 
no other solution possible ? 

Besides Goethe and Schiller, Germany has fur- 
nished uncommonly intellectual, talented, and in part 



36 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



learned men, who have attempted to give a new 
direction to poesy. But, in my opinion, they have fallen 
into a gross error, which has prevented them from 
producing that effect on their contemporaries, which 
might have been expected from their great abilities. 
Poetry, I think, can never be separated from indivi- 
dual feeling and thinking. Only that which the poet 
has thought and felt — very deeply thought, and very 
susceptibly felt — should be presented to us in his work : 
he then does not give us fiction, he gives us his real 
interior life. Those individuals of whom I speak have 
reversed this order ; they have given free scope to 
their imaginations, careless how their fictions may 
agree with their own mode of thinking and feeling, 
or that of others. Hence their works, which pleased 
me uncommonly at first, were unable to retain their 
influence over me. They tore me away from well- 
known associations, and translated me into a new, 
gay, and romantic world ; but I could not live in such 
a world, and it vanished from my view like the delu- 
sive form conjured up by a magician. The obscure 
and mysterious ideas, or brilliant forms, which these 
poets have borrowed from the Christian religion, and 
especially the Catholic church, belong to these magic 
illusions. I soon felt, that even these are only truly 
poetic when credence is attached to them. But do 
I believe them ? Do these individuals themselves 
believe them ? 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



or 



LETTER VII. 

You are in the right, my dearest friend— man is not 
destined to live entirely separate from those of his 
own species, and alone. He is better able to bear 
himself this heaviest of burdens which is imposed 
upon him, when others aid him in bearing it. We 
withdraw, impelled by pride and melancholy, into 
solitude ; and find, in the end, that it is preferable to 
pass the time with others, even with the most super- 
ficial and common class of mankind, than to be always 
alone. I have therefore, at your advice, come forth 
from the retirement in which I had hitherto lived, and 
have delivered the letters of recommendation, with 
which I was abundantly provided — particularly for my 
present abode. It cost a struggle, and this struggle 
is renewed every time I prepare for going into com- 
pany. However, I confess I have not unfrequently 
been soothed, and returned home in a better frame 
of mind. 

Here, in this country, as far as I have been able to 
observe the company, especially in the larger circles, 
little provision is made for the gratification which 
arises from the mutual and animated communication 



38 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



of ideas. Such, a communication seems to exist only 
in the smaller circles, where those who are of similar 
sentiments, and already on friendly terms with each 
other, unite more closely. In general, the men, whe- 
ther merchants or literati, are reserved ; and every one 
seems to wish that the other would bring forward 
the result of his observations, and he himself be 
permitted to retain his own. Perhaps in this they 
do well ; for from the discussion, if it arises, a dispute 
but too soon ensues, which is conducted with no great 
forbearance. The art of arranging a company in 
such a manner, that elements which are in diametrical 
opposition do not come into contact with each other, is 
but little practised here ; and hence it is so much 
the more requisite to have recourse to other means 
of supplying entertainment. One of the most favou- 
rite kinds is music, and especially singing, to which 
I am indebted for many a truly delightful hour, on 
occasions when I anticipated nothing but painful 
wearisomeness. There is something more heartfelt 
and affecting in the singing at this place, than I have 
found or felt elsewhere. The Germans, generally 
speaking, seem formed more for singing, and the 
French for speaking. Hence the former excel in lyric 
poetry, and the latter in the drama. 

But alas ! singing is not the only representative of 
amusement ; and it is wonderful how many things are 



LETTER Vlf. 



8 Li 



invented, in order to satisfy the want of sociability 
which is vividly felt. A company is frequently col- 
lected together solely for the purpose of hearing a 
poet rehearse his productions. Poems are recited, 
comedies performed, and dramatic pieces read, so 
that each of those present undertakes a part, and is 
first an actor, and then a spectator. Pictures are 
represented by living individuals, who as eagerly 
seek to imitate some well-known piece of art in cos- 
tume and gesture, as art is wont to strive to imitate 
nature. 

I have been introduced to company of a very par- 
ticular kind. It was at the house of an individual, 
who is highly respected here. The company con- 
sisted of both ladies and gentlemen, and likewise of 
several young officers. One of the gentlemen 
seemed known to me ; it was the same young coun- 
cillor whom I had met at the theatre, and whom I 
have mentioned in a previous letter. His obsequious 
conduct towards the master of the house, led me to 
infer that he stood in a subordinate official situation 
to him. The conversation, without being lively, had 
something cordial ; and each one treated the other in 
a particularly friendly manner. This was also the case 
with respect to myself; it was evidently the intention 
to render me comfortable, and it proved successful. 
In this endeavour, M. von Steindorf, a government 



40 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



councillor, exceeded all the rest. I felt attracted 
towards him, as he did towards me ; and I have a 
presentiment that, next to you, he will become my 
dearest friend. 

The conversation touched slightly upon many of 
the occurrences of the day, and many of the affairs 
of the state and the church ; the latter seemed to 
excite by far the warmest interest. Opinions were 
expressed upon everything with discrimination and 
freedom, but at the same time with mildness. " We 
may certainly expect from you," said a lady, address- 
ing herself to me, " circumstantial and authentic 
accounts repecting the movements of the true or 
imaginary fanaticism, which is said to be abroad in 
your native land." This placed me in an extremely 
embarrassing situation. I was suddenly called upon 
to take an active part in a conversation to which I 
had hitherto been only an attentive listener. I had to 
speak upon events, of which, though I had indeed 
heard, yet which I had never thought worthy of any 
particular attention ; and, besides this, I was thus led 
into the sphere of religion, to which my reflections 
were still strangers. I had, until that moment, formed 
no opinion concerning the things that had reference 
to it ; and this I felt ashamed to confess. Nor did I 
do so, although I stated my ignorance of the circum- 
stances concerning: which I was asked. This statement 



LETTER VII. 



41 



excited universal surprise ; a pause in the conversation 
ensued, and my embarrassment was indescribable ; it 
was not however of long duration, for Steindorf very 
expertly gave the conversation another direction. 

It soon turned upon music, which afforded me an 
opportunity of expressing my great admiration of 
Gliick, and particularly of his Iphigenia of Tauris ; of 
which, I mentioned that I had shortly before heard 
some parts performed in a private house. My judg- 
ment respecting Gliick proved to be the opinion of all. 
Called upon by the lady of the house, a gentleman sat 
down to the piano-forte, and a young lady sang seve- 
ral pieces from the works of that composer, with deep 
feeling and well-toned voice. The remark was made, 
that Gliick' s compositions, by their simplicity, dignity, 
and feeling, were nearly allied to sacred music ; and 
mention being made of Pergolese's "Stabat Mater," 
some passages in it were also performed. The com- 
pany now began to speak of church-music ; and to men- 
tion the most approved melodies and hymn- tunes. One 
of these melodies, observed Steindorf, was set to a 
hymn, to which he had paid previously lit tie attention, 
but which he had read that morning with great edifi- 
cation. A number of hymn-books were immediately 
produced ; the gentleman who had played the air from 
Gliick, sat down again to the instrument, and played 
the tune, which was sung by the company. There 

D 



42 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



were only two who did not join in the singing— my- 
self and the young councillor. I have never sung ; 
for I possess neither ear nor voice ; the thing was at 
the same time strange and unwonted, so that I felt 
a degree of embarrassment. However, I attentively 
followed one of the books which had fallen to the 
share of the young councillor and myself, and which 
both of us held in our hands before us. His counte- 
nance exhibited a singular expression of feature, bv 
which, as it seemed, he wished to communicate with 
me, and give me to perceive his rage at the circum- 
stance. 

When the company separated, and I was already 
at some distance from the house, I was overtaken in 
the street by the young councillor, who, almost choked 
with passion, exclaimed, " I never expected in all mv 
life to have been present at a conventicle/*' 
f What is a conventicle ?" asked I. 

" An assembly of pietists, " answered he. 

et And what are pietists ? " was my next question . 

' ' You must be a great stranger in this country , 
answered he, astonished and chagrined. " They are 
just such people as those with whom we have been in 
company." 

" Therefore polished, kind, amiable people, " con- 
tinued I ; " as for instance, Mr. von Steindorf and his 

ladv." 



LETTER VII. 



43 



" Polished, kind, amiable ! " exclaimed he passion- 
ately, " they are ridiculous, narrow-minded, intoler- 
able people. Humility on their lips, and the idol of 
pride in their hearts ! — speak of nothing but love, and 
are cold as ice ! — and blame, judge, and condemn every 
one who does not belong to their circle." 

" Give truth the glory," said I. "During the 
whole evening not a single word of the kind has been 
spoken ; and they were uncommonly friendly to us 
both, whom they most probably did not regard as o^ 
their number/' 

" And can you bear their horrible psalm- singing ? " 
continued he. 

"It is the first time in my life, " rejoined I, " that 
I have been in a private circle where hymns were sung. 
Yet as recourse is had to so many means of supplying 
the want of conversation — for which there is little ta- 
lent and ability here — I do not see why this should be 
excluded." 

"I admire your moderation,' 7 exclaimed he; "but 
the unceasing litany of sin and redemption in their 
hymns and conversation — what do you say to them ? 
Do you believe in such things ? " 

" Whether it is an erroneous idea," rejoined I, 
" which has governed mankind during so many cen- 
turies, or whether it is some superior necessity which 
gives their thoughts and feelings this form, I know 
d 2 



44 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



not ; I do not decide. But this 1 must say, that the 
exhibition of Christian piety has never been intolerable 
to me ; and it reminds me of my parents, who were also 
pious Christians. Nay, I could sometimes even envy 
such people." 

" Envy them ! " exclaimed he. " Is it possible ! ' ? 

" Yes ;" said I, " for they have something on which 
they can support themselves ; hence they posses-s an 
inward serenity of which others are deficient. " 

Thus we parted, not a little dissatisfied with each 
other. However, the peace which pervaded the cir- 
cle we had left, seemed to have in some measure ex- 
panded itself over me. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER VIII. 

May, 1826. 

What avails dissipation ? Of what use is it to seek 
an alleviation of my sorrow in books and society ? 
These remedies avail only for a short time, and the 
evil grows worse with every relapse. 

Mi von Steindorf — whom I met, not only in the 
circle I lately described to you, but also on several 
other similar occasions, and whom I have likewise 
visited in his own house — invited me to take a ride 
with him to one of the royal summer residences a few 
miles off. I accompanied him and his lady in one 
carriage, and the rest of the company followed in two 
or three other vehicles. The place is really beautiful, 
and the pleasing situation of the garden, though des- 
titute of any great natural advantages, has been taste- 
fully improved. The weather was uncommonly cheer- 
ful and refreshing ; a mild and gentle sun shine shed 
itself over and irradiated everything, exhibiting to 
view the blessings which nature had scattered over the 
whole of the wide plain, which was overlooked from 
several pleasing points of view. 

The day was spent in the open air, and we walked 



46 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



about upon the spacious lawns, under groves of shady 
fir and other trees. Cheerfulness, which partook as 
much of witty jocoseness as of serious reflection, per- 
vaded the company, with the exception of myself — I 
was far from participating in it. 

I know not whether I am able to make another feel 
and perceive what I experienced. Have you ever felt 
cramp in the chest ? How it draws the parts within 
together with an obtuse pain, and air finds no pas- 
sage through the contracted channels of respiration ! 
Thus was I suddenly seized in the interior of my 
soul. A moment before, I had felt perfectly com- 
fortable ; all at once my heart was pressed together 
by an indescribable melancholy. The repose and sere- 
nity which pervaded all nature, did not communicate 
this feeling to me, but the opposite. He who crosses 
a church-yard at the midnight hour, could not be 
under greater trepidation than that which I felt on 
one of the finest days in spring. I was entirely car- 
ried away from the scenes around me, and transported 
to a distance, into the past. I was forcibly com- 
pelled to turn my eyes wherever there was anything 
of a tormenting nature for me in the wide world, and 
wherever there was anything in the past of which I 
repented. All the reproach which had ever been made 
me, or could have been cast upon me, sounded in my 
ears ; and I was forced to listen to it. Thus one- 



LETTER VIII. 



47 



hour after another passed away in increasing and 
indescribable horror. I was, nevertheless, able to 
speak, and to bear a part — though not a lively one — in 
the conversation. Nor did I yield myself up to 
melancholy, like a stripling ; I struggled, I strove to 
shake it off; but it was stronger than I. At length 
I could bear it no longer. I felt compelled to leave 
the company. I pleaded as an excuse, that in my 
native country I had accustomed myself to walk for 
many miles together, and that my health had suffered 
from omitting this salutary exercise in Germany ; that 
I now felt particularly impelled to it, and wished, in 
order not to reach home too late, to set out imme- 
diately. The company did not particularly urge me 
to give up the plan ; I was soon on the road with 
myself alone ; but my inward torment was not in the 
least allayed. With the approach of night, and the 
fatigue I began to feel — for the way was long — my 
mental anguish and disgust at life increased. The 
carriages of our company overtook me at the gates of 
the town ; and as they drove past me, I heard them 
cheerfully conversing and laughing. None of them 
observed me ; for it was already dark ; besides — what 
am I to them ? or what are they to me ? 



43 



CONFESSIONS 



OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER IX. 

I can no longer bear it ; it is horrible ; it is enough 
to make one wish for death ! It cannot continue 
thus ; it must end in lunacy or an act of despera- 
tion. 

There are none — however I may once have loved 
and valued them ; not excepting yourself, my friend — 
against whom I do not feel exasperation, repugnance, 
and rage. I figure them to myself in idea ; and the 
mortification they have caused me, and the injustice 
they have done me, immediately occur to me. I 
state these things to them, and overwhelm them 
with reproaches. They defend themselves ; I become 
more violent ; and excite myself by fighting with 
shadows in this manner to such a degree, that I 
suddenly spring up from my seat, breathless with 
agitation. 

I spare myself the least of all. When I take a 
retrospect of my past life, and call to mind how often 
I have trifled with my happiness ; how often I have 
made myself the laughing stock of men ; how often 
I have done wrong, and received no benefit from it — 
I am then scarcely able to refrain, like GEdipus in 
the tragedy, from raging against my own person. 



LETTER IX. 



49 



If I have not to do with myself or other indivi- 
duals, my thoughts wander, and seek out the most 
horrible scenes which the world can yield. I con- 
ceive myself standing on the scaffold ; I see them 
bring forth the malefactor, throw him down, and — 
Immediately afterwards it is myself, to whom all this 
occurs. Or else I am lying apparently dead, in a coffin, 
and awake in the night of the grave. My thoughts 
suddenly revert from works of the most cheerful 
nature and the most interesting studies — I myself 
know not how — to those objects which possess, with 
reference to me, such a horribly attracting power. 

When I fall asleep, it is as if a demon sat before 
me and grinned at me, who changes himself from 
one dreadful form into another, and who once more 
presents to my confused thoughts that which is the 
most revolting and appalling, in order that I may 
take it with me into the world of dreams. 

Some time ago, the city was full of a suicide which 
had been committed. The individual had distin- 
guished himself in many respects, and in particular 
by considerable poetical talent. He goes to a wood, 
places himself under a tree, discharges his pistol, and 
is no more. The populace crowded out of the city 
to see the corpse, and invented a multitude of fables- 
concerning his being in want of money, having been 
unfortunate in love, &c, as the cause of the fatal act, 



50 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



If a man can but be satisfied with himself, he may 
also be so with the want of money and the most un- 
happy love-affair ; but when he can no longer bear 
himself, he is not far from the pistol or the rope. 

Some time ago, I fell asleep more quietly than 
usual. After the night was past, and with the morn- 
ing dawn, a greater coolness and exhaustion had 
come over me. Sweet moment, thought I ; whilst a 
pleasing shiver thrilled through me, and my limbs 
extended themselves at their ease. Sweet moment, 
when the cold shiver of death shall pervade me, and 
my body shall stretch itself out to take its final 
repose, from which we awake no more ! 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



51 



LETTER X. 

I am not such a child, or weakling, or so foolish, as 
not to be struck with my own state, reflect upon it, 
and survey the causes which have produced it. 

I alone bear all the blame. I am not, indeed, like 
many others — not so moderate in my inclinations, nor 
do I so easily accommodate myself to that which has 
been taken for granted, and established by the mass 
of mankind. But this feeling, which so easily trans- 
gresses its bounds, is capable of being modified ; in 
order to which, clear, immutably established princi- 
ples are requisite, concerning good and evil, right and 
wrong, things which are allowable and that which is 
prohibited. Instead of forming such principles within 
me, I suffered myself to be guided by my inclinations ; 
which at one time discarded that which they had felt 
to be a duty at another, as soon as it opposed their 
gratification; and which was assisted by a penetrating 
acuteness, which in its fallacious decisions degraded 
the most sacred things, and elevated the most vile. 
Thus I followed what I called my heart, and was even 
proud of recognizing no bounds prescribed by duty or 
circumstances. The power which I had scorned now 



52 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



avenges itself upon me. I have been cast out by 
those social relations, to which I refused to give due 
deference ; and almost all connection between me and 
human society is terminated. I am now limited to 
myself : and in this solitude, and thus standing alone, 
my too powerful feelings throw themselves back upon 
me, and rack and destroy my mind. 

But how is the evil to be removed ? I know not ; 
every remedy which presents itself immediately seems 
insufficient to me ; and the fruitlessness of reflecting 
upon the subject, brings me almost to despair. Shall 
I make enjoyment the principal aim of my existence, 
and seek to fill up eveiy hour, from morning till night, 
with the pleasures of sense or of intellect ? Shall I 
become a companion of those, who, in brutality and 
levity, pursue only the grosser enjoyments ? Or 
avoiding these debasing paths, shall I strive to render 
myself an acceptable and indispensable member in 
many a polished and well-bred circle ? Shall I spend 
the evening hours of Monday at a ball — of Tuesday 
at the gaming-table — of Yv ednesday at the theatre ? 
On Thursday shall I read or hear my own poetical 
productions, or those of others ? Shall I, on Friday, 
set on foot the most witty games, and make myself 
prominent in each of them by my cheerfulness and 
my comic remarks ? Shall I act a comedy on Satur- 
day ? On Sunday amuse a company with the tricks 



LETTER X. 



53 



of jugglers and conjurors ; and, on Monday, recom- 
mence the same round of diversion ? I cannot include 
myself amongst the happy or unhappy mortals, who 
can satisfy themselves with these frivolous, worthless, 
and unintellectual pursuits : I would rather bear my 
solitary torments all my life long, than seek to escape 
from them in such a manner. Or supposing I were to 
seek for something which would affect me still more 
powerfully, and artificially ingraft an inclination, or a 
passion upon myself — this may be done, and upon this 
point I might say much — and suffer myself to be 
carried away with it, careless about the result ? Thank 
God, I have not yet gone to such a length, as to fall 
a prey so easily to the stratagems of hell, and not to 
shrink with horror from a game, in which the devil 
himself so obviously shuffles the cards ! 

It would therefore be, perhaps, the most advisable 
for me to endeavour to procure an official situation ; 
the direction of my powers to exterior things, and 
the fatigue attendant upon incumbent official activity, 
would, perhaps, procure inward peace. Perhaps — 
and perhaps not. The unsettled conflict within might 
just as easily render the fetters of an office, and its 
regular occupation, an intolerable burden ! Nor can 
I yet give up the hope of obtaining peace of mind by 
my own struggles ; and I am ashamed of the idea, in 
the event of success, of receiving it as a present made 
me by outward circumstances. However, I am not 



54 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



inactive ; I have formed a plan for my studies, which 
I cam* into effect with zeal and firmness. My time 
is divided between the study of the ancient languages , 
and that of history ; and I can boast of having made 
no inconsiderable progress in both. Does not a pros- 
pect present itself here ? — the literature and history 
of Greece and Rome, and add to these, ancient and 
modern philosophy — is not this a world capable of 
attracting and occupying the whole of my mental 
powers and faculties, and thus afford complete satis- 
faction to the soul ? A world, indeed — and a glorious 
one for him whose mind and heart are regulated, and 
who has placed himself in the true position as it re- 
spects those invisible powers which assail his heart. 
But this is not the case with me, and, therefore, those 
studies are really nothing more than a means of 
killing the time, although the best of those methods 
which have been hitherto invented. 

There is still one thing left, and that is, poetry ! 
I love it ; I have made attempts at it, which were not 
unsuccessful ; now were I to devote all my powers 
and efforts to it, would it not lead to such a height 
as would secure me from all tormenting influences ? 
I have thought so, and made the attempt ; and found 
that even this was a futile hope. The sole cause of 
this did not lie in the weakness of my poetical talent, 
which in other respects I gladly acknowledge ; others 
possess it perhaps not in a higher degree ; but there 



LETTER X. 



55 



is in them an independent power, the development of 
which is only promoted or restrained by the state of 
the whole mind. In my case, the inclinations and 
ability to compose has never been anything else than 
my inward life ; if the latter had remained untouched 
bv the poison of the world, it might perhaps have pro- 
duced many a poetical flower and much fruit. But I 
have wasted that power of the spirit and that warmth 
of the heart in the foolish and confused movement 
of the passions which are necessary for conceiving a 
poetical idea, forming it, and expressing it in words. 
Like the visionary forms towards which a dreamer 
stretches out his hands, but cannot reach — so the 
forms which arise in my imagination pass by in the 
twilight of distance, and disappear as soon as I wish to 
seize and retain them. Inspiration, sacred flame ! thou 
no longer burstest forth from the profaned sanctuary 
of my heart ; and since thou hast forsaken it, I per- 
ceive, most clearly and painfully, how inanimate and 
dead it is. 

Thus I really know not what to do. I condemn 
the past, and see no light to illumine the future, no 
path to lead me through its wildness. If any thing 
has taken firm hold of me, it is the consciousness that 
the injunctions of conscience cannot be transgressed 
with impunity, and the resolution to obey its decisions 
as much as possible in future. 



56 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALSERT. 



LETTER XI. 

20th June 1828. 

Rejoice with me, my dear friend. Something has 
at length sprung up within me, which I venture to 
call hope. You will learn how this has taken place, 
when I give you an account of one of my days — 
perhaps the most important of my life. 

On the day to which I allude (it was the 1 8th of 
June) I entered my study at an early hour. The sun, 
which for some days had been obscured by a gloomy 
sky, shone in a very bright and friendly manner into 
the room, and I could not possibly be unsusceptible 
of the cheerful morning salutation which it offered 
me. I approached the open widow, into which the 
air of summer, cooled by a gentle breeze, entered 
with its rays ; and I surveyed the surrounding scenery, 
which I had never before beheld clothed in such 
lively colours, and which now for the first time 
afforded me pleasure. I am residing on the banks of 
a broad and magnificent stream, which intersects the 
town ; the opposite shore is planted with trees, over 
the summits of which the lofty Gothic spires of the 
principal church of the place, not far from the stream, 



LETTER XI. 



57 



form a conspicuous object. I had delighted myself 
for a while in surveying the stream, when suddenlv 
the full-toned peal of the cathedral bells burst upon 
my ear, announcing the commencement of earlv 
worship. I was now reminded — for I had for a long 
time been in the habit of paying no attention to the 
difference of days — that it was Sunday, and this 
thought caused me pleasure. I saw the people under 
the shade of the trees, repairing to church ; and soon 
heard from the latter, the solemn tones of the organ 
and the choral singing of the congregation. 

On turning away from the window, in order to 
commence my labours for the day, it occurred to 
me — and a reference to the calendar assured me of it 
— that the day which had commenced so cheerfully 
was the 18th of June, and mv birth-dav. This re- 
flection filled me with a melancholy but not painful 
feeling. I sat down, and leaned my head on my 
hand. I surveyed the years that were past, as far as 
I could penetrate into them ; and called to mind under 
what peculiar circumstances, and with what proofs of 
affection and friendship, that day had formerly been 
celebrated by my parents and friends. ' On the day 
therefore/ said I to myself, ' on which I am twenty- 
eight years old, I receive no tokens of sympathy 
either from my parents — for they are dead ; or from 
my friends — for they have forgotten me. I am alone, 

E 



58 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



quite alone, in a foreign land. f But/ added I immedi- 
ately, f is not this bright sunshine, this pealing of the 
bells, and these swelling notes of the organ, a celebra- 
tion of my birth- day ; and cannot that which the pre- 
sent denies me, be compensated by the remembrance 
of the past ? ' 

I just then recollected, that though I had left many 
things behind me, which were good and useful, in 
consequence of my hasty departure ; yet I had taken 
with me a birth-day present, made me by my parents, 
which was particularly dear to me. I resolved, there- 
fore, immediately to seek it ; and consequently Plato, 
who was already lying open, and the apparatus of 
translations and commentaries belonging to it, were 
closed and laid aside. I soon found what I sought. 
It was a beautifully printed and sumptuously bound 
Bible, with the striking likenesses of my father and 
mother, one of which was placed at the beginning 
and the other at the end of the book. I gazed long 
upon these portraits, and the sight of them affected 
me deeply. My parents seemed to be near me, for 
the purpose of bringing me their salutations and 
good wishes. Between my father's picture and the 
title-page of the Bible, was a leaf written upon by my 
father, which I had frequently read, but without any 
particular impression ; for good sentiments require a 
favourable season, and the latter had now arrived. 



LETTER XI. 



59 



The following is what he had written :— 
" On the day that you are twenty years old, my be- 
loved son, your parents present you with this Bible 
and their likenesses ; and wish that both may ever be 
to you a pleasing and a precious gift. You will find 
in the Bible safe and divine directions how to obtain 
supreme blessings, virtue and true happiness ; and in 
our portraits you see the features of those who are 
more solicitous than any other individuals in the world 
for your temporal and spiritual welfare. As long as 
we are upon earth, beloved son, you will certainly have 
recourse to us your parents, next to God and his word, 
as often as you need counsel and comfort. But when 
at length we shall be with you no more, do not on 
that account esteem yourself forsaken. You have a 
Father in heaven, who will protect you, if you continue 
faithful to him ; and in his word you will continually 
find comfort in affliction, and encouragement to strive 
for the attainment of that bright world, at which the 
grace of God assists us to arrive, and where we hope 
again to meet you, our beloved son." 

On reading these words, I felt as I had never done 
in my life before. I began to tremble, weep, and sob 
aloud. The remembrance of my parents — of the years 
of my childhood, which were rendered so happy by 
their affection — the grief at my aberrations and at my 
present joyless solitude— all this, combined in one name- 



60 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



less feeling, assailed me, and shook me to my centre, 
First, one of these objects, and then another, presented 
itself in a lively manner to my view ; and each of them 
caused me a flood of tears. These images then grew 
obscure, they retreated into the background ; but still 
I did not cease to weep ; my tears flowed only the 
more copiously, because I was no longer conscious why 
I shed them. I wept for the pleasure I took in weep- 
ing ; my heart was strongly and increasingly shaken 
by an invisible power, and filled with a still profounder 
melancholy. It is possible that in my infantile years 
I may have wept as copiously and bitterly ; but since 
that period, with the exception of the time when I lost 
my parents, my eyes had continued dry ; and though 
my heart had experienced many other emotions, yet 
it had never been thus shaken to its centre. A con- 
siderable space of time had elapsed, and this tempest and 
pressure of feeling had already begun to subside, when 
suddenly the pealing of the bells for the morning ser- 
vice began, still more powerfully and sonorously than 
had seemed to be the case at an earlier hour. I sprang 
up, as if terrified; my heart quivered at every tone. 
It seemed to me as if I heard the voice of my parents 
in the sound of the bells, who reproached me for having 
taken the Bible, they had given me eight years before, 
scarcely once into my hands during the whole of that 
long period. I took up the Bible ; opened it at the com- 



LETTER XI. 



61 



mencement of the New Testament , began to read ; and 
during that and the following days did nothing else but 
read it, and sought to arrange and retain the rich 
abundance of ideas and feelings which flowed in upon 
me. 

If at other times, my dearest friend, I have felt the 
necessity of pouring out my heart in complaints to 
you — it now impels me, much more strongly, to com- 
municate to you every thing w T hich passes in my mind. 
I think I have now reached the turning-point, and am 
commencing a new and better period of my life, in 
which I shall perhaps be less unworthy of your affec- 
tion and friendship. 



62 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



LETTER XII. 



There is something extremely strange and wonder- 
ful connected with the reading of the Bible ! I was not 
altogether ignorant of its contents, as yon may ima- 
gine, in consequence of previous instruction : for I had 
been occasionally obliged to read itto my motherland at 
school ; and whilst receiving religious instruction pas- 
sages from it were explained. If ever a book seemed 
dry to me formerly, it was the Bible ; for though I 
felt no repugnance towards it, yet there was not the 
smallest thing in it that attracted me, or touched my 
heart. That pleasing state, in which the mind 
longs for the book, and in which the book gives the 
mind a treasure of ideas and feelings, did not occur in 
my case. I read the Bible without reading it, or at 
least without understanding it; or else, if I understood 
it, the words only entered into my understanding, but 
never penetrated into my heart. Without doubting 
the history of Jesus, I did not feel affected by it : Christ, 
I thought, had lived, acted, and spoken for his con- 
temporaries ; but he did not live, act, and speak for 
me. I succeeded still worse in an attempt I once 
made to investigate the connection of ideas in some 



LETTER XII. 



63 



of the discourses of Jesus, quoted by John, and in 
some of the Epistles of Paul ; and nothing but a narco- 
tic vapour, which stupefied and paralyzed the powers 
of my soul, arose from thus reading and torturing 
the words of Scripture. 

Who is it that has all at once unfolded this closed 
book to me ? — who has transformed the barren sandy 
waste into a meadow, filled with bubbling springs 
of water ? — who causes every word to rise up as a 
winged and soaring spirit, and find the way to my 
heart ? In the first ravening of my hunger, I read 
the New Testament from beginning to end ; I can now 
spend almost as long a time on a single passage as was 
required for this purpose. There is much thatldo notun- 
derstand, and much is entirely incomprehensible to me. 
But every thing fills me with reverence and love, and 
attracts me. I awake in the morning with the idea 
that pleasure is awaiting me, and I take up my Bible. 
In the evening I rejoice no longer, as formerly, 
at sinking into unconsciousness ; but conclude my day 
with the Bible, as with a beloved friend. How am 
I to reconcile this — that it was formerly nothing to 
me, and that it is now everything ? Undoubtedly 
thus : it is the word of God ; God must also give the 
key to it himself. We do not see the starry heavens 
which he created, unless he dispels the clouds which 
cover them. 



64 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



I have become another man in the space of a few 
days. How poor, how inwardly dead I was, I have 
already complained to you mvself. The marrow 
seemed to me to he dried in my hones. My spirit, 
languishing in its own barrenness, had always the 
desire, but never the power, to follow out an idea ; 
it sank to the earth like a bird that has been shot in 
the wing. That which now passes within me I can 
best bring before you under the figure of a fountain, 
What a slothful mass is water ! Is it possible for it to 
be driven up above the roofs of houses and the loftiest 
spires r The powerful wheels of the machine are put 
in motion ; they beat upon the foaming waters of 
the stream, and drive them into the pipes. Arrived at 
the opening of the basin, the mighty column of water 
rushes forth, elevating itself slowly at first, and 
gradually, as if hesitating between heaven and earth. 
Suddenly, the direction is decided ; gravitation is 
overcome ; a column of water, composed of millions of 
drops, flies bubbling aloft towards the azure heavens, 
and lingers there ; masses of foam, which have 
formed themselves on high into a clustering capital, 
sink unwillingly down ; but, whilst sinking, form a 
rainbow with its magnificent colours. 

The words of Scripture are the wheels ; my 
thoughts are the rising column ; the rainbow is the 
image of heaven, which my spirit bears in it. even 
when it sinks. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



€5 



LETTER XIII. 

I cast myself upon your bosom, and exclaim, in 
the intoxication of my joy, " I have found it ! I 
have found it ! Share my rapture with me ! I have 
found that Christ is God ! " 

Do not yet ask how I made the discovery ; I know 
not whether I shall ever be able to make it clear 
either to you or myself. Only thus much I know : 
The truth that the man Christ Jesus is God, presents 
itself to me more brilliantly than the light of the sun. 

That which, so long as it was not found, tormented 
me, drove me hither and thither, plunged me from 
one abyss of melancholy into another, made me hate 
my life and the light of the sun — that which my spirit 
longed for, and my heart required — I have found, 
and feel myself supremely happy in its possession. 

How did the learned mathematician, after having 
found the solution of his problem, rush amongst the 
people, exclaiming, f I have found it !' Poor man ! 
thou hadst not found much. But I have found the 
solution of the great problem respecting the relative 
position of deity towards humanity ; I know what 
God is towards man ; what man ought to be towards 



66 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



God ; for deity and humanity stand before me in one 
and the same person. 

I have read, in Matthew's gospel, of the pearl of 
great price, and of the merchant who sold all in 
order to purchase it. I have purchased this precious 
pearl; and it is called 'Christ is God.' I have 
bought it for nothing ; it has been given to me. And 
yet I have given up for it everything that unassisted 
reason has found out, or ever can rind out ; and, if 
necessary, am willing to sacrifice for it, property, 
health, and life, in order to maintain that Christ is 
God. 

A friend related to me the following circumstance • 
When he had obtained the consent of the object of 
his affections, it seemed as if a voice continually 
resounded within him, f Thou happy man ! Thou art 
in possession of such a precious secret ! How much 
are others to be pitied for knowing nothing of it ! ' 
Thus I also carry about with me a precious and 
blissful secret, which however I would gladly com- 
municate to all the world. I awake with joyful feel- 
ings ; for my first thought is, s Christ is God.' If I 
go out on any business, or to pay a visit, on re- 
entering my chamber I rejoice that I can again 
entirely immerse myself in my sweet secret. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



67 



LETTER XIV. 

I expected nothing less than that you would wish 
to know how it happened that the Divinity of Christ 
so suddenly became apparent to me. In requiring 
this, you perhaps hope to obtain a clearer view of this 
doctrine yourself, from which you are still at some 
distance, but which calls upon you, with a serious ex- 
hortation, to a nearer approach and contemplation, 
I shall not be able to satisfy your wishes entirely ; at 
least I can only relate, and not bring forward argu- 
mentative proof ; for I have not procured myself the 
conviction, but faith has sprung up within me. 

I have already mentioned to you the very peculiar 
attraction and charm, by which the writings of the 
New Testament captivated my mind ; this mysterious 
influence emanated from the person of Jesus, whom 
they displayed to me. I have never, as the Lord 
knows, felt any repugnance to the Saviour ; on the 
contrary, I have venerated him ; but this veneration 
was cold ; it was as if we had no reference to each 
other. His words might be applicable to others, but 
they were not so to me ; they had no effect upon me. 
All at once, when I lately began to read, every word 



68 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



seemed addressed to me, and he appeared to have 
me in view, and to regard me with a look of sym- 
pathy, as if he pitied my misery. Oh what have I felt, 
whilst perusing those passages in which he comforts 
those that mourn, and binds up the hearts which are 
broken by penitence ! Jesus was not only the same 
who lived eighteen hundred years ago in Judea — but 
I felt that he still lived, that he stood before me, 
sought me, and began to hold converse with me. 

With respect to what has since occurred, Jesus has 
inflamed my heart more and more ; when I hear him 
speak, I am compelled to banish every other thought, 
in order to apprehend his words with entire simpli- 
city of heart ; and whenever I thought I understood 
that he asserted or required anything of me, it would 
have seemed impious, had I hesitated to believe or 
obey it. The impression of his personality has done 
everything ; the matter therefore, as far as I am con- 
cerned, has been entirely passive on my part, although 
it seems to me that the personality of Jesus, which 
naturally conveys the idea of limitation, also possesses 
something universal, by which it is capable of forming 
a connection with the hearts of others, as it has done 
with mine. 

But why has this connection between me and him 
been only so recently formed ? He knows ; but not I. 
*' £ The Father," as he himself says, " must draw those 



LETTER XIV, 



6^ 



who come to the Son." But has he not previously 
drawn me ? This may have been the case, and I may 
have resisted it. But now he drew me so strongly, that 
I could not help following the attraction. The hor- 
rible inward apprehension, the dreadful conflicts, the 
distraction of my mind, which increased almost to 
insanity, may all have belonged to this drawing. If 
this be the case, I will ever regard them as blessings. 
My heart was a hard-trodden highway, on which 
wordlv lust, pride, and sensuality drove along ; it has 
now been torn up by a plough- share, which has pene- 
trated dreadfully deep ; it is now able to receive the 
Divine seed. 

T wished to learn from Christ himself what I ought 
to think of him. In the course of reading, I noted 
down everything that he had said of himself. Love 
is fond of writing — it cannot avoid writing to or of 
its object. Thus a long catalogue of passages re- 
specting the person of Jesus was formed ; I could, 
indeed, have met with them in any of the works on 
the subject, and perhaps much better arranged ; but, 
probably, not always collected by the hand of love ; 
hence, such books are of no value to me at present. 
I cannot deny the fact, that, although as it respected 
the idea of his person, I was resolved to observe the 
precise bounds of that which he himself might desire ; 
yet 1 could not refrain from wishing that he might 



70 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



demand much, nay the utmost possible, with reference 
to the belief in his Divinity. This wish was fulfilled 
in its full extent. When such passages occurred as 
the following : — " I and the Father are one " I will 
raise him up at the last day, that all men may honour 
the Son even as they honour the Father" — I could 
have always leaped for joy; whilst at the same time I 
was deeply penetrated by a feeling of awe. "Words 
like these, from the lips of Jesus, were like a clap of 
thunder in a serene sky ; they bring before us the 
presence of the Deity ; we look up, and behold, not 
its wrathful but its benignant countenance. The 
whole world may now despise, scorn, and ridicule me ; 
vea, I will rather suffer myself to be racked and tor- 
tured to death, than deny what Jesus savs, and 
before I will begin to treat and bargain with him 
respecting the power of his words, as if he had not 
meant them in so strong a sense, nor wished to re- 
quire so much. He says he is God. He is so ; and 
upon this I will live and die. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



71 



LETTER XV. 

I write again, without waiting for a letter from you. 
I put objections into your mouth, and answer them 
according to what I have hitherto experienced. 

For what purpose should God become man, and 
descend upon the earth, in order to converse with 
me ? Answer : In order that God may become to 
me a living God, and that I may begin to experience 
something at this appellation. I must confess I have 
hitherto lived without God. The mere taking for 
granted the existence of an author of all things, 
without knowing in what situation we stand to him ; 
without his holding converse with us, or we with him 
— is in reality having no God. But is it necessary 
that God should descend from heaven, in order to 
enter into a closer relation with mankind ? Answer : 
In what other way can it take place ? Must men 
be elevated into heaven ? It is to be lamented that 
people will rather assent to impossibilities, than admit 
of a miracle. It is much easier to suppose God 
descending from heaven, than man ascending to 
heaven. 

You may perhaps remember, my dearest friend, 



n 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



that during the first day I spent in your house, I 
manifested a cool, timid, and reserved deportment 
towards you. On the morning of the second day, 
when we were alone, you surprised and delighted me, 
by declaring that you felt yourself drawn to me, 
and wished to give me proofs of your friendship and 
affection. Without this declaration, could I have 
ever had a presentiment of your sentiments towards 
me — have been able to place full confidence in you 
— or communicate every thing that passes within me 
in a series of letters to you ? Therefore, in order to 
become acquainted with a man's sentiments towards 
me, he must converse with me ; how then shall 
we be able to know the sentiments of God to- 
wards us, or place confidence in him, if he continues 
silent with respect to us ? 

But it may be said, that God sufficiently reveals 
himself in the universal laws and arrangements of na- 
ture. That heart is cold that speaks thus. Dost 
thou, therefore, desire to know nothing more than 
that Summer is succeeded by Autumn, and then by 
Winter, which will be followed by Spring ? Nothing 
more, than that he who has sinned must suffer the 
deserved punishment ? Yet this is almost all that 
thou canst learn from the physical and moral order 
of the world. And hast thou no particular affair to 
settle with the Ruler of the world, which has not 



LETTER XV. 



73 



reference to his universal laws, but to his personal sen- 
timents concerning thee ? 

A man has committed a crime, and is desirous of 
applying to the king for pardon. He is uncertain 
whether his petition will find a hearing. A friend 
comes to him, to whom he states his anxiety and 
apprehensions. " Be comforted," says the former ; M do 
you not see that the king rules his territory by- 
excellent laws ? " "Laws ! laws ! " exclaims the other, 
in despair at the miserable consolation; "according 
to the laws thieves are imprisoned, and murderers 
executed, and I am also threatened by the laws with 
one or other of these punishments. I did not 
wish to know that ; but whether there is anv thing 1 in 
the personal feelings of the king, from which I might 
cherish any hope of pardon.' ' And has not every one 
of us such an affair with God, as cannot be settled by 
means of the universal order of nature, but only 
by the extraordinary method of grace ? Or do the 
generality of people know nothing of this inward 
necessity ? I condemn no one ; having long enough 
known nothing of it myself. But now it urges and 
impels me upwards to God, in order to mourn before 
Him, over all the misery which has accumulated in me, 
in consequence of my transgressions ; for the purpose 
of seeking from him, by means which can be known 
to him alone, the restoration of my peace of mind, 

F 



74 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



and the regulation of my disordered powers. If, 
under such circumstances, I were directed to the order 
of nature, it would only be like saying to a cri- 
minal, who was hoping for mercy, - Peace, peace, 
my friend ! there are blocks and scaffolds enough in 
this country ! " 

"With respect to many, God is nothing else than 
nature and its order. They refuse to acknowledge 
any other revelation of God than in his universal laws ; 
and when these are set aside, the God they have made 
themselves ceases to be. And is it possible that they 
can wear such chains, without becoming a prey to 
despair ? I could never do so — at least should now be 
incapable of it. As it regards me, God begins to live, 
whilst breaking through the fixed order of nature. 
He is now a person, and has now a heart to which I 
can apply. 

Others, to whom I have hitherto myself belonged, 
believe in a personal God, or at least maintain it ; 
but are unwilling that God should reveal himself in any 
other way than through the medium of nature and rea- 
son. But whilst thus setting bounds to him, they 
transform the living God into an impersonal abstract 

principle, and a lifeless law, by which the world is 
regulated. A God who cannot abrogate the order 

he has established ; who, when his heart prompts 

him to it, cannot converse with mankind in a way 



SERMON XV. 



75 



never heard of before — is no living, personal God ; 
is not the Creator of the universe, who was before 
all things. I must either give myself up to a pan- 
theism, which brings me to despair, or I must be- 
lieve in a God who reveals himself in Christ ; I do 
the latter. 



76 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XVI. 

The miracles related in Scripture are a dreadful stone 
of stumbling to many wise men, and render the whole 
Bible suspicious to them. That the waters of the sea 
divided, and towered aloft on both sides ; that the dead, 
in consequence of new life communicated to them, left 
their graves — are things which must not be mentioned 
to them ; they are much too wise to believe any thing 
of the kind ; such things are only suitable for children 
and the vulgar. 

Thank heaven that I have got beyond these miser- 
able scruples ! The necessity of accepting that mira- 
cle of all miracles, the incarnation of the Son of God, 
has reconciled me to all the other wonders. When 
Deity descends into humanity, omnipotence can also 
enter into nature, and change its laws ; that supreme 
and greatest of all miracles requires a retinue and an 
attendance of other wonderful phenomena. It operates 
backwards and forwards. The people amongst whom 
the God-man is to appear, the ground on which he is 
to tread, must be cultivated and prepared by miracles 
for his reception ; and after he has vanished from the 



LETTER XVI. 



77 



earth, he must leave behind him, in the mighty acts of 
his disciples, an echo of his own. 

He who doubts of the reality of miracles, does 
not love Christ ; he would rather that a blemish should 
attach to Christ, than humble himself. It costs Reason 
something — this vain ignoramus, who is so proud of 
her narrow limits — to acknowledge anything as a real 
fact, which lies beyond the sphere of her jurisdiction. 
But unless she does this, where is the truth and faith- 
fulness of Christ, who has borne testimony to his own 
miracles, to those of his apostles, and to all those 
which had been performed in former times ? Does it 
therefore cost you nothing, ye self seeking mortals, 
to attempt to annihilate the only completely glorious 
and perfect appearance on this miserable earth, only 
that you may not be accused of cherishing a simple 
childlike faith ? In order that you may not require to 
humble yourselves, is Christ — may he pardon the ex- 
pression ! — to be made a liar ? 



78 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XVII. 

That which a dry skeleton is, compared with a living 3 
body, is the idea I had formerly of God, compared 
with that which is now formed in me. 

In the religious instruction which I received at an 
earlier period of my life, I was mortally tired of hear- 
ing the attributes of God repeated, one after the other 
— such as his omnipotence, wisdom, &c. When God 
is spoken of, thought I— for even then I had some 
obscure feeling of it — he ought to be represented in 
colour's brilliant as the rainbow, rejoicing everything 
like the sun, and refreshing the heart as the dew-drops 
do the tender herb . But when spoken of in the manner 
above-mentioned, it seemed to me like breaking off 
single boughs from a dead tree, holding them up, and 
saying, " See, how it sends forth buds and blossoms ! 

But how are we to transmute this dry and unre- 
freshing detail into an energetic and animating dis- 
course upon the Supreme Good ? I think, by beginning 
with that which the holy Apostle John says ; " God 
is love." This touches the heart ; nor does the mind 
go away empty, for it imagines to itself more in the 
idea of love, than in that of infinity, spirit, eternity 
or immutability. 1 would not, however, give up the lat- 



LETTER XVII. 



79 



ter attributes; but rather make them serve as an 
ornament to that love which is the essence of Deity. 

Yes, thou supreme Love ! Thou art one essentially 
and exclusively, so as no one upon earth, nor even the 
glowing heart of an angel, can experience. Thou art 
infinite in greatness; for I hasten after thee through the 
boundless universe, and every where I find beingswhom 
thou bearest on thy bosom ; — infinite in little things ; 
for thou hast numbered even the hairs of our heads, 
and regulatedcircumstances whichwithdrawthemselves 
from the observation and conception of those who ex- 
perience them. Thou art eternal ; for before created 
beings were called into existence, thou didst prepare 
their felicity, and wilt rejoice in it everlastingly. There 
is no change nor shadow of turning in thee ; thou dost 
not love more at one time and less at another ; but 
always infinitely, both when thou causest delight and 
when thou causest grief, both when thou rewardest 
and when thou punishest. Thou art happy ; for can 
love be anything else than happy ? I shall be so with 
thee, whilst loving thee in return. Thou art satisfied 
in thyself, even as love though unreturned, if it be only 
perfect, is satisfied ; but yet thou wouldst that other 
beings also might be happy through their love to thee. 
The word of thy love was omnipotent ; I experience 
this in the weak words which my lips are able to utter ; 
they penetrate into the hearts of others, and animate 



8G 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



my ideas in them, only when love impels me to speak, 
But, O infinite Love ! couldst thou ever withdraw thy- 
self from that which thou hast created ; or turn away 
thine eyes from all the changes which take place in it ; 
or leave it to the course of a blind chance, without 
having previously regulated every thing ? No ; thou 
dost not depart from us ; thine eye is ever directed to- 
wards us, and thou hast provided for us even to all 
eternity. Thy intention is, to lead us to thyself, who 
art wholly love : and hence there must necessarily be 
even here, though limited by earthly deficiencies, a 
kingdom of love, a kingdom of God, in which we are 
prepared for the perfect kingdom above. It mani- 
fested itself, from the very first, in the social relations 
of human life, and as a holy enthusiasm for the things 
in which we are bom and bred. It appeared still more 
mighty in all that was to prepare the way for the ap- 
pearing of the great and Divine Envoy. But when he 
came, the heavenly kingdom of God itself appeared 
on earth ; and it poured itself out in superabundant 
fulness, when from love he breathed out his life on the 
cross. 

Thy justice, O God ! is also nothing else than love ; 
for thou only punishest us here below, that we may 
turn away from the world, which hates us, unto thee, 
who lovest us. Thou excludest only those from thy 
felicity, with a love incompatible with hatred, who 



LETTER XVII. 



81 



hate instead of loving. Thou art holy through thy 
love ; for evil is only that which is opposed to love : 
by it thou art our example ; for as it respects us also, 
there is no other virtue than love. And when we 
call thee a Spirit, and take away all corporal limita- 
tions, which prevent the expansion of infinite love, 
we still confess, that from love thou hast made thyself 
visible to man, and hast presented thyself to our 
eyes, and hast drawn near to our hearts, in the person 
of Jesus Christ, 



CONFESSION'S OE ADALBERT. 



LETTER XVIII. 

It is all at an end ! It is over with me ! I 
can bear it no longer ! A new life seemed to have 
arisen within me in faith, after a long and deadly con- 
flict ; it was the last flickering of the lamp, ere it was 
extinguished for ever. 

But you do not understand me. I will therefore 
force myself to relate to you what has occurred to me ; 
I will penetrate into the depth of my dreadful pain — 
the only pain I ever felt — lose myself in it, and, if 
possible, perish in it. 

I believe I have already mentioned to you, at the 
commencement of my correspondence, an unfortunate 
or rather culpable passion, which was the real cause 
of my leaving my native land. I must now add to 
that statement, that the person for whom I felt it. was 
the wife of my friend. His ignorance of it had con- 
tinued incomprehensibly long, when all at once the 
horrible truth unfolded itself to him, and he presented 
himself before me with the accusation of the blackest 
perfidy. At first I was petroled and mute ; but the 
boundless pain which rent his heart just where it was 
the most susceptible — this pain, which ought to have 



LETTER XVIII. 



S3 



overwhelmed me, — soon inspired me with a dreadful 
rage, in which I thought myself justified, because the 
fault charged upon me consisted only in feelings, 
looks, and words. But was it less culpable on that ac- 
count ? I began to return defiance for reproaches, and 
scorn for complaints ; my madness had also infected 
him, who was otherwise of a kind and gentle dispo- 
sition, in such a measure, and enraged him beyond all 
bounds, that we decided upon terminating the quarrel 
by fighting a duel, in which one of us should be slain. 
He fired first, and certainly with a trembling hand ; 
his ball erred past me. Hatred had sharpened my 
sight and steadied my hand ; I fired and he fell. But 
that moment, I sank also to the ground, my feverish 
heat having given way to a cold and horrible con- 
sciousness of my crimes. The witnesses of the un- 
happy conflict urged me to hasten home, in order to 
make immediate preparations for flight. There I 
soon received a message which induced me to remain. 
The wound of my antagonist was not mortal ; he had 
come to himself out of his fainting fit, and been car- 
ried home, and there was every hope of a not very 
distant recovery. The latter ensued ; he seemed to 
have reconciled himself with his wife, and both, 
whom I have never seen since that time, left their 
place of residence, and retired to a countiy seat, which 
lay deeply hidden in an Alpine valley. 



S4 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



Since that period, the justice of God has followed 
me. I lived in my native town as an outlaw and an 
exile ; for every social bond between me and my 
friends and fellow towns-people was dissolved ; every 
one fled from me, and I did not dare to appear before 
any one. My mother, who was at that time ill, and 
lived very retired, learnt something however of the 
mournful tale ; and although she avoided conversing 
with me upon it, yet the silent sorrow which consum- 
ed her, did not escape me. As long as she lived, I 
could not, and dared not, forsake her ; but I had no 
sooner closed her eyes, than I felt urgently impelled 
to leave my native land, hoping to breathe more freely 
in another country, where I should be entirely sepa- 
rated from all those whom I had offended, and where 
I should hear nothing of them nor they of me. 

In this I was mistaken ; for although I had ima- 
gined that my abode was not known in my native 
land, yet providence has yesterday suffered the follow- 
ing letter to reach me. It is from the wife of my 
unhappy friend : — 

" My husband is dead, and I obey his last will, by 
informing you that he heartily forgave you, and even 
often spoke of you with his wonted friendship. 

" I have no doubt that the wound he received in 
the duel, and w T hich was only apparently healed ; or 
rather, that a much deeper wound which he bore in 



LETTER XVIII. 



85 



his heart since that period, was the cause of his 
death. 

" I will, if God permit, spend the remainder of my 
life in penitence and grief at the place where he died, 
and wait for the longed-for moment of my decease. 
May heaven also grant you the grace of perceiving the 
aberrations of your former life." 

Alas ! alas ! what painful news ! I am a mur- 
derer ! a double murderer — for grief will not suffer 
her to live much longer ; this, and nothing else, is my 
crime. If this news had reached me some months 
earlier, I might possibly have found some false con- 
solation. But I am now inconsolable. Heaven, into 
which I had looked only for a moment, sends me an 
avenging angel, who points his flaming sword to my 
heart. Or if I had heard of it some months later, by 
the favour of Heaven, which began to smile upon me, 
I might perhaps have gained sufficient firmness to bear 
all things, and even this. But now, just now, when 
a paradise was blooming before my eyes ; when an 
inspiration, never felt before, was bearing me above 
the visible heavens to the throne of God — that is sud- 
denly taken from me which was scarcely given me, 
and T fall from my timid and uncertain flight, 
shattered upon the earth. I know not what to do ; 
every better thought which had germinated in my 
soul, becomes a flaming scourge which chastises me. 



86 



CONFESSIONS OP ADALBERT. 



Heaven, into which I had boldly looked, vanishes 
from my view ; I only see hell before me, peopled 
with murderers, and inhabited by hatred, which opens 
itself to receive a monster such as I. I have trans- 
gressed the sacred commands, not of men, but of 
God ; I have rebelled against his government of the 
world ; he must reject me — in his kingdom there can 
be no place for me. Oh why was I born ! why is my 
spirit incarcerated in the limits of this existence, which 
it can no longer burst, to flow back into nothingness ! 
What has my life, from the earliest period to which me- 
mory can revert, been else but a continual torment, 
which I have borne in the deepest recesses of my 
heart, and which I have raised to a height no longer 
tolerable by my unhappy passions ? O God ! O God ! 
who didst create even such a wretch as I to partici- 
pate in thy felicity, hast thou entirely forsaken me ? 
Shall I perish irremediably ? 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



87 



LETTER XIX. 

Oh what nights I pass ! Wearied with grief and 
weeping, I soon sink into sleep ; but in a few minutes 
the faithless slumber is fled, and my eyes again open. 
The unhappy duel then presents itself before me ; I 
see myself appearing, as with hell in my heart, and 
elevate my hand as if pointed by hell — and see my 
friend fall to the ground. The scene changes, it pre- 
sents a little solitary house, in a gloomy and confined 
valley. In a dark room he lies dying and motionless 
upon his couch ; she sits before him, and weeps. I per- 
ceive their conversation is of me. I am then unable to 
bear it any longer ; I leap up, dress myself, and wan- 
der about. Thus several months ago did I pace my 
chamber, torturing and tormenting myself, without in 
reality knowing wherefore. Now when I feel myself 
tormented, I know but too well the cause of my pain ; 
and it seems to me as if on this account my present 
state was preferable to the former one. 

If the morning is gloomy, it seems to be more 
melancholy than the night ; if it is bright, I cannot 
comprehend what the sunshine has to do with me. 
When the day declines, and the evening approaches, 



88 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



a wonderful and inexplicable tranquillity generally 
enters my heart. Is not this some heavenly influence, 
which at such times produces this effect upon me, for 
which I can assign no other cause ? I am then also 
able to pray. I can only exclaim indeed, from the 
bottom of my heart, ff "\Yoe is me ! Lord, help me !" 
But I believe that this also is prayer. I am able then 
also to open my Bible ; and the history of our Lord's 
passion then invariably presents itself to me. " My 
God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" Thus I 
exclaim with Christ, and whilst uttering these words, 
I feel that God has not entirely forsaken me, and that 
I have not wholly departed from him. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XX. 

Whilst pacing my apartment last night by the 
light of my lamp, the words of the Apostle Paul sud- 
denly occurred to me, " Where sin abounded, grace 
did much more abound/' I paid little attention to 
them at first, and roved with my thoughts to other 
subjects. But these words continually came in my 
way, and almost forcibly compelled me to direct mv 
attention to them. I was unable and unwilling to 
resist the impression, and held the following monologue 
upon the import of the passage : 

' Sin has abounded in me ; but it is written, and I 
must believe it, if I believe in God, that grace can 
much more abound. This grace can forgive sin ; it 
can do more — it can expel sin from the heart. But 
first of all, sin must be forgiven. Let me not be told 
of amendment and sanctification ; I will not hear of 
them, until I know that God has forgiven me. 

' God is willing to forgive every one ; he will there- 
fore forgive me : who would venture to doubt of it ? If 
I were the vilest criminal 3 — here I paused, and was 
horrified at the idea which flashed through me. that 

Q 



90 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



the difference between me and the vilest criminal was 
not so great as I had formerly imagined, — f the 
vilest criminal/ continued I, ' can obtain grace. 
See him sitting in his dungeon, waiting for death at 
the hands of the executioner on the morrow. Now, 
if he casts himself into the amis of Divine Grace, as 
entirely lost, and, regarding himself as such, renounces 
every attempt to save himself, he dies in a state of 
salvation. This is effected by virtue of the death of 
Jesus, who is the true God, and yet died on the cross 
as man. 

6 Now, if these criminals obtain forgiveness from God/ 
asked I, ' why may not I ?' but here a voice said within 
me, ' vea, they may be forgiven, but it does not thence 
follow that thou wilt be forgiven/ 

I could not comprehend my own state of mind. I 
said to myself, ' why should I not appropriate to my- 
self that in which the vilest malefactor may partici- 
pate ?' but in vain ; I had inwardly no consciousness 
of forgiveness. 

' But what does this mean ? ' exclaimed I, almost in 
desnair. ' Notwithstanding mv transgressions, the 
greatness of which I acknowledge, I am better than 
numberless others. I have never loved that which is 
base and vile. I have even been susceptible of the 
truth of the Sacred Scriptures ; of belief in the Divine 



LETTER XX. 



91 



dignity of the Redeemer ; and yet I am unable to lay 
hold of the forgiveness offered, which even a murderer 
can appropriate to himself. 

' A murderer ?' here I paused ; for something like 
light began to gleam. ' Certainly/ continued I, ' even a 
murderer, if he regard himself as a completely and 
utterly worthless individual, who has not the power 
to rescue himself : therefore it only depends upon 
my humbling myself in an equal degree.' 

'Impossible ! impossible V exclaimed my heart, with 
repugnance. ' I cannot degrade myself to the lowest 
stage of human nature ; I cannot declare the years I 
have hitherto spent as entirely lost ; I cannot despise 
the natural gifts which the Creator has bestowed upon 
me, and by which he has elevated me above a thou- 
sand others. And were I to give up everything 
besides, there would still remain the last few weeks of 
my life, in which I have begun to believe in Christ, 
and to love him, and even the struggles which pre- 
ceded my enlightening, and which prepared my 
heart for it. If I were to condemn every thing in me 
without exception, and cast away all merit from me as 
a filthy rag, I should totter, like a weak and quivering 
flame, on the brink of the abyss of annihilation and 
eternal torment/ 

' It is of no avail/ said I, after some consideration. 
* I . must take the last fearful step of self- con demna- 
g 2 



9f 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



tion and self-annihilation. The impulse I feel withni 
me, and which urges me to this spiritual death, is too 
strong ; I cannot resist it. WeD then, I will accom- 
plish it. Let sentence be pronounced upon me. I 
place myself on the deepest and lowest step on which 
man has ever stood. I acknowledge that there is not 
a single individual to whom I deserve to be preferred \ 
for we are all sinners, and under condemnation in the 
sight of God ; and amongst these there are no grada- 
tions of honour and distinction. Yes, I acknowledge 
that there is none so vile and reprobate to whom I do 
not vield the precedence ; because, in my situation, and 
enjoying similar advantages, the former would perhaps 
have fallen less deeply than L Vain and entirely 
fruitless has been my former life : it has been of no 
importance — at least not as it respects heaven, though 
perhaps with reference to hell. I dare not rejoice in 
the good sentiments and actions which may have been 
scattered through it ; for these emotions, since they 
do not proceed from myself, but emanate in an incom- 
prehensible manner from heaven, only make my sins, 
bv contrast, the blacker and more heinous. I even 
cease to boast of the commencements of my faith and 
love to thee, O Lord ! for I acknowledge that both 
can be, and have been, nothing more than a glow of 
the imagination, without any real participation of the 
heart. In this state my soul draws near to thee, my 



LETTER XX. 



93 



Redeemer, naked and bare, and, like a little flame, 
quivering over the pit of perdition ; wilt thou now 
receive me ? 

Such were my sentiments, and an unspeakably 
sweet and certain feeling that I was accepted and 
pardoned by my Redeemer, took the place of my 
previous agonizing doubts. 

Whilst life still struggles with death in a dying 
man, he moves and writhes about, with a countenance 
distorted by agony and fear. But when life has once 
withdrawn from the unequal conflict, and death has 
fully overcome — the corpse lies stretched out, as if in 
a sweet slumber ; and the friendly smile, which hovers 
upon the features, appears to announce that the 
supposed defeat has been a real victory. I have also 
died* and over me steals the serene repose of death. 



94 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XXL 

I look back, with silent gratitude to God, on the 
conflict of the night which I described to you 
in my last letter. The peace which sprang up 
within me, after having annihilated myself in my own 
eyes, has not departed from me. 1 cannot say 
that it is a peace devoid of pain ; for the reproofs 
which conscience makes me, and which I do not 
reject, are stronger than ever ; yet they no longer 
excite that dreadful alarm which formerly tor- 
mented me, but a sorrow, which I may term a 
godly one, and which can well consist with peace. 
As long as I live, I desire no other fundamental 
feeling within, than this strange mixture of pain 
and peace ; and I only pray that it may not be taken 
from me, nor weakened. 

Thus I experience at what price Jesus becomes, 
our Redeemer. All must be given for all. Even- 
thing we supposed we possessed must be renounced,, 
and then we possess him. The more decidedly 
we renounce ourselves, the greater our part in 
Christ. Ah ! T know not how far I have proceeded 



LETTER XXI. 



0-5 



in this self-annihilation ; it is possible that in a 
further development of the Christian life within me, 
I may look down upon my present state, as a very 
low stage of it ; but compared with my former states, 
the present is an advance . 

In the letters which I wrote you on the first 
awakening of my faith, I expressed myself in many 
high-sounding words upon the Scriptures, the divi- 
nity of Christ, the miracles, and the necessity of a 
revelation. Such-like language I should now be 
unable to employ; I even no longer feel that 
animation which elevated me at that time ; how 
can animation consist with death ? For I still 
regard myself as dead. There is nothing in me 
but a very peaceful feeling of profound wretched- 
ness and unbounded grace. The grace is so great, 
that I do not despair on account of the wretch- 
edness ; but the latter is so horrible, that I cannot 
fall into any enthusiastic rapture at the grace. 
I am still the hovering flame over the abyss ; only 
with this difference, that the breath of Eternal 
Compassion bears me up, and preserves me from 
sinking. Occasionally I should not feel satisfied 
with my state, as being so cold and sober, did 
I not reflect that lofty thoughts and transports do 
not become a poor sinner like myself. I appear 



96 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



before Christ, and have in reality no particular 
thoughts or feelings ; only a nameless something 
which says to him, from the centre of my heart, 
' Thou art my Redeemer ! ' and a silent tear stands 
in my eye to confirm the language of my heart. 
With this I believe the Lord is satisfied for the 
present. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



97 



LETTER XXII. 

The angels, says the Scripture, desire to look into 
the mystery of redemption, and I have also this 
desire. Who indeed can fathom it ? Neither man 
nor angel is ahle to do it. When the fatal flash 
singles out the husband and father, in the circle of 
his young family, and at the side of his loving con- 
sort, and hurls him lifeless to the ground, I do not 
pretend to be able to comprehend the connection in 
which this event stands with the hnal aim of mankind, 
and with their other destinies, and the necessity which 
is thereby implied ; yet in faith I attach such a 
necessity to it. How should I therefore be able to 
comprehend the necessary connection of the death of 
Jesus on the cross, with the redemption of the human 
race ? This would pre- suppose a perfect insight into 
all the depths of deity, and into the nature of salva- 
tion and condemnation. I believe, therefore, before I 
investigate. Investigation ought not to produce 
faith ; I have already attained to the latter, on the path 
of inward experience, in which I have been led by the 
Spirit of God. Its onlv object is to bring . my 
thoughts upon this subject into unison with each 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



other respecting the instructions contained in the 
Scriptures, and the ever craving necessities of my 
heart. 

I wish to be saved, and deserve to be lost. This 
is the true state of the case. What can man do to 
alter it ? Nothing, abstractedly considered. The 
generality of people, in the pride of conscious se- 
curity, do not observe the danger, nor attempt to 
escape from it. But when they make the attempt, 
the latter is unavailing. The fulfilment of duty, to 
which I am impelled solely and wholly by the desire 
of escaping Divine punishment, and therefore by 
servile fear, cannot possibly satisfy the Almighty, or 
procure me his favour, which I have forfeited by siu. 
However, let it be supposed, that the motive is entirely 
pure and acceptable to God — and further, that the 
individual has committed oniv a single sin in his whole 
life, and that all its other moments have been em- 
ployed in the practice of virtue ; though in moments 
so employed, he has drawn down upon himself no 
chastisement, yet he has not on that account com- 
pensated for that single sin ; the punishment he has 
thereby deserved, has not been on that account 
remitted him. 

Hence so much is certain ; the forgiveness of sins 
is not the result of any human merit, but solely of 
the grace of God. But why did this grace require 



LETTER XXII. 



the death of Jesus ? Was this means necessary, in 
order to excite Divine compassion ? Would it not 
have been more seemly for him to have avoided the 
appearance of being placated only by tortures and 
martyrdom, and to have offered the forgiveness of 
sins to mankind, without any thing further, on the 
condition of faith and amendment ? 

I am obliged to doubt that such a mode of proce- 
dure would have become the Most High. A forgive- 
ness which he vouchsafed, at the expense of every- 
thing that reminded the individual of his severity, 
justice, and his wrath against sin, might easily have 
been construed, by our corrupt hearts, into a weak- 
minded negligence and an approval of sin ; and it 
would have been unworthy of the holy God, to have 
given occasion to any such ideas. How wonderfully, 
on the contrary, are severity and mercy united in the 
atonement of Christ ! When I look at the cruci- 
fied Saviour, I behold, at one view, punishment and 
forgiveness ; I feel, at the same time, horror and 
rapture ; and I hate the sin that was the procuring 
cause of such torments, equally as much as I love 
that God who inflicts them not on me. 

I go a step further, and I do not dread taking into 
account all the difficulties which present themselves 
in this view of the subject. The question is asked, 
'■ how does it accord with the justice of God, that he 



100 CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 

not merely permits the sufferings of the guiltless for 
the guilty — but also for the sake of these sufferings 
pardons the guilty ? ' Numberless questions of this 
kind may be raised, as soon as the point of view is 
changed, from which the work of redemption ought 
to be contemplated, and as soon as that is endeavour- 
ed to be comprehended by the understanding, which 
can only be felt by a heart that longs for redemption. 
I do not start such a question. I remember what a 
dreadful conflict it cost me, before the certainty of 
forgiveness could penetrate into and pacify my mind. 
For such is man — at one time presumptuous ; at 
another despairing. Terrors cannot be sufficiently 
accumulated to cure his presumption, nor tokens of 
favour to raise him from his despondency. The pre- 
sumptuous are terrified at the sight of the crucified 
Jesus, and the merited punishment ; the desponding 
begin to hope that the latter may be remitted them. 
Yes, I confess that in the season of conflict there 
was so strong a feeling within me, of the heinous- 
ness of my sin and the necessity of punishment, that 
I could only be delivered from the fear of suffering it 
myself, by the certainty that the punishment I 
deserved had been already endured for me by another. 
If God had sent an angel to me with the assurance 
that I should be liberated without any ransom, I 
should not have believed this angel, and should have 



LETTER XXII. 



101 



plunged myself, in despair, into the torments I had 
merited. In this desire of the heart, which is con- 
scious of its guilt, for punishment — in this impossi- 
bility of being set at rest, except by the remission of 
it,- — I perceive a fundamental impulse of human 
nature ; and I am compelled to believe, that this 
desire of man accords with the demands of Divine 
justice. 

Still I have not attained my object. I desire to 
be saved, and am only not damned. The latter does 
not constitute the former. Even as it was inconsis- 
tent with the justice of God to spare me after the 
commission of so much sin— so it is likewise in con- 
tradiction to it, to make me a partaker, without any 
merit of my own, of that which no eye hath seen, 
nor ear heard, and which has never entered into the 
heart of man. I myself, who just before, in the 
consciousness of my guilt, desired the punishment 
I merited, shrink back from the superabundant 
felicity which is offered me, and dare not venture 
to lay hold of it. Christ alone possesses a merit 
commensurate to that felicity. To Him, who from 
pure and disinterested love to God and man breathed 
out his life on the cross — to Him belongs the greatest 
fulness of recompense which God is able to bestow. 
It belongs certainly to him ; but how can I obtain 
it ? The punishment I have merited must first be 



102 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



remitted me, because he endured it ; and I am now 
to become a partaker of felicity and glory, because 
be has merited them for me. All these are things 
which reason cannot comprehend. I am inclined to 
believe that the human understanding does not de- 
termine the relative situations of things in the spi- 
ritual world, but that these are regulated by other laws. 
The understanding is not conscious that there is an 
eternally indissoluble bond between that Jesus, who 
has preserved us from the pit of eternal woe, and the 
soul which has been saved by him, and which hangs 
upon him with unspeakable love. But there is still 
something else in man, by which he is capable of 
being conscious of this. Thank God, I possess this 
consciousness ; I feel it through my whole being, 
which trembles at the fulness of grace and love 
in Jesus, at the terrors of the pit and the glories of 
heaven. I not merely feel — I know and perceive 
with the full certainty which is given to reason, 
that my Saviour, if I do not forsake him, cannot 
forsake me to all eternity; that he was elevated 
on the wood of the cross for me ; that he entered 
heaven for my sake ; that he here endured what 1 
deserved ; and that I shall there enjoy what he has 
merited. Where He is, there I must be. What he 
possesses, I must also enjoy. This is the con- 



LETTER XXII. 



103 



sequence of his love, the infinity of which is felt 
and anticipated with increasing force by my incipient 
love to him. 

Thus the mystery of redemption appears, to my 
primary reflection, radiant with holiness and love. 
But now enough of reflection ! Let my spirit lose 
itself in blissful contemplation and rapturous asto- 
nishment ! 



104 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



LETTER XXIII. 



Oh what a wonderful similarity in the history of 
two friends ! Yon have therefore also arrived, at 
the same time as I did, at the knowledge of Christ 
and the conviction that we require a Redeemer ! 
But how different are the paths which have led us 
to the same end ! If it can be said of any one, it may 
be said of you, that your heart and life have continued 
pure ; but that because of this very puritv you become 
the more susceptible of the impression which the cor- 
ruption of human nature must produce on the one 
hand, and the perfection of our Redeemer on the 
other. You do not express this ; your humility does 
not even permit you to think of it ; but believe me, it 
is really so. You are on the direct road ; I have 
come to the Redeemer after long aberrations. He 
has only reached you the hand to assist you in 
ascending ; he has drawn me out of the abyss in 
which I was plunged. You are like John ; I am like 
Paul. Rut it is still one and the same grace, which 
has done all, and has hindered your virtue from being 
injurious to you through pride, and my corruption 
from being injurious to me through despair. This 



LETTER XXIII. 



105 



grace is inexhaustibly rich in means, and amongst the 
numberless individuals whom it has saved, there are 
perhaps not two, who have been led entirely by the 
same path. However I am compelled to believe that 
the path of Paul occurs more frequently than that of 
John. 

Although I feel in my heart, since I have attained 
to the consciousness of my forgiveness, a profound 
and continual sorrow (and when ought such a feeling 
to be absent from us ?), yet this sorrow is not unto 
death, but unto life ; and although darkness covers 
the depth of my heart, yet the latter is sufficiently 
expanded to rejoice in the grace of God and the 
excellencies of pious men, and to receive every ray 
of light which occasionally falls into it. 

The company of Steindorf and his lady affords me 
indescribable consolation. He is a man of business, 
and a Christian. It is remarkable how much the 
Christain ennobles in him the man of business, and 
at the same time elevates him above the narrow 
limits of practical life. In his civil vocation, he 
labours for the kingdom and glory of his Lord ; hence 
nothing can equal his zeal and fidelity in the discharge 
of his duties ; but at the same time, he stands above 
his outward situation, and judges of the events 
which happen in the world, and the occurrences of 
life, in the reflection of a superior light. 

H 



106 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT 



His consort is no ordinary character ; piety mani- 
fests itself in her, not in the common way, but in a 
manner which is extremely original. She is between 
forty and fifty ; not without the remains of former 
distinguished beauty: the diminution of which, in 
consequence of increasing years, is, however, not 
regretted, because there is still a sufficiency of other 
attractions to admire. It is perceptible ; that she has 
not only moved in polished circles, but also that she 
has done much for her own mental improvement. 
She possesses nearly all those accomplishments and 
talents which well become her sex. But the most 
prominent and admirable feature in her character is 
her affectionate disposition. I have never before seen, 
either amongst men or women, any that live so little 
for themselves, and so entirely for others. She is not, 
however, like many other pious persons with whom 
I have become acquainted here, who seem everv 
moment to say to themselves, c I will be affectionate ; '" 
and hence have something constrained in their mani- 
festation of kindness, or at least a consciousness of 
shewing it. It never seems to occur to her, whilst 
thinking of others from morning tiU evening, and la- 
bouring for them, that she is doing anything particular. 
I might also say, that this principle of universal love, 
which can only be a gift of grace, seems in her to 
have become a natural quality. I have never met 



LETTER XXIII. 



107 



with such an instance of that which in religious works 
is sometimes called simplicity, and of that unremitting- 
advancement in the good way, without reflecting upon 
the progress made. Hence strange things often 
occur with the people who become acquainted with 
her. They think at first, on witnessing so much kind- 
ness, and such deep interest in the affairs of others, 
\vhich elicits no trace of superior acquirements — " She 
is a well-meaning woman,, hut probably does not 
possess much understanding." But soon the conver- 
sation takes another turn, and they are not a little 
astonished that this good-humoured woman passes 
her opinion on the productions of literature and of 
art, and the various phenomena in the sphere of mo- 
rals and religion, with all the discrimination of a man, 
and with that refinement which is peculiar only to 
females of polished education, She immediately 
formed an advantageous opinion of me, in consequence 
of a heartfelt expression I uttered respecting my dear 
departed mother ; and assured her husband, as the 
latter afterwards told me, that ' I should certainlv 
become a good Christian ; for the grace of God never 
forsook those who loved their mothers/ They have 
two lovely children, the one a boy of ten years of age, 
and the other a girl of five. There is much happiness 
in their habitation. May the Lord long preserve it 
to them ! 

h 2 



10S 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



LETTER XXIV. 

Oh how has my heart again been rent ; but how 
has it also been elevated towards heaven ! I must tell 
you all. 

On Friday, Madam von Steindorf was indisposed — 
I sent frequently to make inquiry respecting her, and 
was always informed that the evil was not dangerous. 
Last Tuesday, I went thither myself, in order at least 
to see her husband. Every door, which was usuallv 
shut, stood open ; I went, without meeting any one, 
towards a room, in which I heard voices. Steindorf 
stood at the door. Without looking around me, I 
said, " My dear friend, how is your lady ?" On 
which he threw himself into my arms, weeping vio- 
lently, and trembling through his whole frame, 
exclaiming, " She is dead ! she has just expired !" 

Oh what a wonderful contrast between the repose 
of a corpse, and the painful and distressing agitation 
around it ! With what a friendly expression of coun- 
tenance did she lie there ! Her head had sunk a little 
backwards, but was otherwise in the most natural and 
pleasing position. The eyes were already closed. 
She seemed to be asleep, and to smile in her slumbers 



LETTER XXIV. 



109 



on those whom she loved ; but yet there was always 
something sacred, something mysterious in this sleep, 
which ordinary sleep does not possess. The husband 
and the nearest relatives stood, walked, were silent a 
moment, and then broke out into loud lamentations 
expressive of their grief; they approached the corpse, 
kissed its mouth and its hands. She lay motionless, 
and with a smile on her face, but returned none of 
these caresses. The window- curtains, which had 
been carefully drawn during her illness, had been 
already drawn back ; and the sun shone unsyrnpa- 
thizingly into the apartment. 

The children were not present. The daughter had 
been sent, a few days before, to a female friend of the 
mother's : one of those present had conducted the 
son, during his mother's last moments, into a remote 
apartment ; he had there directed him to the history 
of the daughter of Jairus in the New Testament, 
which he urged him to read, and to pray for his mo- 
ther. The boy, who knew nothing of his mother's 
death, now entered. He saw her lying, and heard 
the people exclaiming as he approached, " God has 
taken your mother to himself." For a moment he 
was mute ; he then cried out, whilst tears burst from 
his eyes, " Nothing can help us now but prayer !" 
threw himself on his knees in the middle of the room, 
and said, " Lord, thou didst raise up the daughter of 



110 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



J aims, raise up my mother also !" Was this the fruit 
of the pious education she had given him — the fruit 
of her fervent prayers ? or did an angel speak by the 
mouth of the boy ? However that may be, the depart- 
ed saint surely heard these words on her way to hea- 
ven, and rejoiced over them. His father folded him 
in his arms, and said, " Your prayer is heard: the 
Lord has raised her up, not to an earthly but to a 
heavenly life."' 

The movements of the living still continued around 
the silent and peaceful dead. Friends, acquaintances, 
and relatives hastened thither, immediately on hearing 
the rapidly spreading and mournful intelligence. Every 
one was affected ; every one wished to hear the par- 
ticulars of her last moments ; every one began with 
tears to speak in praise of so much piety, affection,, 
and kindness, of which the world had been deprived. 
At length the scene became more tranquil ; the 
greater part had withdrawn ; the nearest relatives 
alone remained. Steindorf went into an adjoining 
apartment, whither we followed him, and placed him- 
self so that he could see the corpse through the open 
door. He took up the Bible, and read from the 
gospel of John our Lord's last discourses, before he 
went home to his Father, with a trembling voice, 
which was often interrupted by tears ; and during which 
it was evident to us, from the emphasis laid on par- 



LETTER XXIV. 



Ill 



ticular passages, lie thought not merely of the Lord, 
but also of the beloved of his heart, who was now 
with the Lord. O my friend, the Bible is the 
word of God ! He only who created the heart of 
man, is able, at such seasons, to give it what it re- 
quires ; he alone can speak words like these : — 

" Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe in 
God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are 
many mansions : if it were not so, I would have told 
you. . . I go to prepare a place for you ; and if I go and 
prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive 
you unto myself ; that where I am, there ye may be also. 
And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know. 
I am the wav, and the truth, and the life : no man 
cometh unto the Father but by me. ... I will not leave 
you comfortless : I will come to you. Yet a little while, 
and the world seeth me no more ; but ye see me : 
because I live ye shall live also 

" Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto 
you : not as the world giveth give I unto you. Let 
not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. 
Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and 
come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would 
rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father : for my 
Father is greater than I. And now I have told you 
before it come to pass ; that when it is come to pass, 
ye might believe. Hereafter I will not talk much 



112 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



with you : for the prince of this world cometh, and 

hath nothing in me 

C( These things I said not unto you at the beginning, 
because I was with you. But now I go my way to 
him that sent me ; and none of you asketh me, 
Whither goest thou r But because I have said these 
things unto you, sorrow hath filled your heart. 
Nevertheless I tell you the truth ; It is expedient for 
vou that I go away : for if I go not away, the Com- 
forter will not come unto you ; but if I depart, I will 

send him unto you 

" A little while, and ye shall not see me : and 
again, a little while, and ye shall see ; because I go 

to my Father 

" Verily, verily, I say unto you, That ye shall weep 
and lament, but the world shall rejoice : and ye shall 
be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into 
joy. A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow 
because her hour is come ; but as soon as she is de- 
livered of the child, she remembereth no more the an- 
guish, for joy that a man is born into the world. And 
ye now therefore have sorrow : but I wiU see you 
again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no 
man taketh from you. 

" Behold, the horn* cometh, yea, is now come, that 
ye shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall 
leave me alone ; and yet I am not alone ; because the 
Father is with me. These things I have spoken unto 



LETTER XXIV. 



113 



you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world 
ye shall have tribulation : but be of good cheer ; I 
have overcome the world 

" And now I am no more in the world ; but these 
are in the world, and I come to thee. 

" Father, I will that they also whom thou hast 
given me, be with me where I am, that they may 
behold my glory, which thou hast given me ; for thou 
lovedst me before the foundation of the world." 

After he had finished, I took my leave, in order 
to go away. " The Lord," said I to him, " will not 
leave you in this heavy trial." He answered, " The 
distress of my heart is dreadful ; but I hope that this 
terrible visitation from God will serve for my purifi- 
cation ; I require no other consolation than this." 

I proceeded, after closing the door behind me, into 
the room where the corpse lay, so that for a moment 
I was alone with it. I knelt down before it, kissed its 
cold hand, and said, more in the heart than with the 
hps, ' Kind and maternal soul, receive my thanks for 
the kindness thou hast shewn to me, a stranger and 
unknown ! Peace be now with thy ashes ; and may 
thy bright example long serve to stimulate many to 
follow thy steps, and like thee, diffuse happiness 
around ! Let my end be like thine ; and where thou 
art, may I at length be also ! ' 



114 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XXV. 

Saturday. 

She was interred this morning ; I have just re- 
turned from the funeral. I repaired at day-break to 
the house of my unfortunate friend ; the remains of 
his beloved consort had been already laid in their last 
narrow tenement, and nothing more was seen of her 
in the room where she had lived and died. Stein- 
dorf, on whose eyelids sleep had never descended 
since her dissolution — and what nights must those 
have been which he now spent ! — went about trem- 
bling through all his frame. Two or three of the 
nearest relatives were already assembled beside my- 
self. He took the Bible, and laid it open before one 
of them, who read as follows : 

" Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O 
Lord ! Lord, hear my voice ; let thine ears be at- 
tentive to the voice of my supplications. If thou, 
Lord, shouldst mark iniquity, O Lord, who shall 
stand ? But there is forgiveness with thee, that 
thou mayest be feared. I wait for the Lord ; my 
soul doth wait, and on his word do I hope. My 
soul waiteth for the Lord, more than they that watch 
for the morning. Let Israel hope in the Lord ; for 



LETTER XXV. 



115 



with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plen- 
teous redemption. And he shall redeem Israel from 
all his iniquities/' 

In this gloomy apartment, on this dark and rainy 
morning, amongst these deeply afflicted people, and 
near a corpse which was soon to be carried out, I 
understood in some measure what was meant by the 
words, " Calling upon the Lord out of the depths 
and poor Steindorf probably understood it still better. 

Many carriages drove up, and the apartments 
filled. These very individuals had probably met to- 
gether many an evening in the same rooms ; there 
they had laughed and joked, and there social mirth 
had reigned. They now appeared softly and silently, 
like apparitions ; and every one remained immove- 
able in his place. No sound was heard, not even of 
consolation. Xo one whispered to his neighbour. 
All stood and reflected upon the happiness of which 
that house had been the scene, and upon the desola- 
tion that now reigned. Thus did the friends of Job 
sit with him seven nights and seven days upon the 
ground, and were silent ; for they saw that his grief 
was very great. Steindorf alone went occasionally 
to one and another, thanking them for their sympa- 
thy, and mentioning some kind word which his wife 
had said of them. 

This lasted a while ; a hint was then given him, 



116 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



which he understood, took his son by the hand, and 
placed himself with him in the mourning coach, which 
immediately followed the hearse : the rest joined in 
the procession. The funeral passed through the 
streets of the town, which already began to be ani- 
mated. Thus death intersects life, and life plays about 
death, as if it would never fall a victim to it. How 
many of those limbs, which now move so actively, 
will soon be stiff and motionless in the grave ! 

The grave was prepared in the churchyard, between 
the wall and a lofty old linden tree. The coffin was 
lowered into it, and a clergyman began to give an 
address. His words fell like a cooling balm upon a 
burning wound. He drew an extremely correct pic- 
tare of the deceased and her eminent qualities ; and 
was able so to tranquillize and elevate the minds of 
his hearers, that each of them agreed with him when 
he said, at the conclusion, " If our tears and prayers 
could have the effect of drawing her down from the 
heavenly into the earthly life, we would check our 
tears, and restrain the heartfelt and ardent prayer." 
He concluded with the words, " Blessed are the dead 
that die in the Lord : Yea, saith the Spirit, that they 
may rest from their labours, and their works do 
follow them." On this he took a handful of earth, 
and threw it upon the coffin, exclaiming, " Dust thou 
art, and unto dust thou shalt return ! Jesus Christ, 



LETTER XXV. 117 

thy Redeemer, shall raise thee up at the last day." 
All present — even my poor friend Steindorf and his 
son — threw each a handful of earth into the grave. 
O God ! this is therefore the last honour which one 
man shews another here below, to throw a handful 
of earth upon his coffin. And even nothing more 
is left for the husband to do for his consort, after so 
many proofs of fervent affection. Flowers were cast 
into the grave along with the earth, from piled up 
baskets, by the servants of the deceased. The grave- 
digger now commenced his task, and in a few minutes 
all was covered up by the massive clods which were 
forcibly shovelled in. But a magnanimous peace 
had entered into our hearts ; as if, whilst every thing 
of an earthly nature was closed up, heavenly things 
were unfolded to us. 



118 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XXVI. 



Since the decease of the consort of my unfortunate 
Steindorf — and above a fortnight has already elapsed 
— no day has passed in which I have not seen him. 
He assures me every time, that my company is bene- 
ficial to him, and I feel that his is salutary to me. 
Sorrow, profound sorrow, is my predominant feeling 
as well as his. Those who laugh, find no response in 
me ; but the contrary is the case with those who weep. 
I generally find him alone, in his wife's apartment, 
which he now occupies himself, and where, with a sa- 
cred repugnance, he avoids making any change, and 
preserves every object in the place which she had ap- 
pointed for it. Sometimes a little circle, consisting of 
the nearest relatives, also assembles. The dear de~ 
parted is always the subject of conversation. One 
evening, a part of Klopstock's Messias was read. I 
was still perfectly unacquainted with this extraordinary 
piece of composition ; I listened with fixed attention 
and with rapture. When it was ended, Steindorf said, 
f< That is beautiful and excellent ! But now read to 
me another chapter from the Bible. Other writers 
give us at one time too much, at another too little ; 



LETTER XXVI. 



119 



but the word of God gives us always what we need, 
and in the measure in which we require it." 

Yesterday I again found him alone in his wife's 
apartment. " In what state is your heart ? " inquired 
I. " Sometimes much distressed, " replied he. " But 
then again I experience a sweet and profound peace. 
We cannot produce these frames ourselves ; we must 
receive them as they are given us from above. Many 
things may occur there , which have an influence upon 
us, and of which we know nothing ;" and after a pause 
he added, " I now feel indescribably comfortable." 

" I admire in you, " rejoined I, " the extraordinary 
power of Christian faith. What ?> loss you have sus- 
tained, and yet how calmly you bear it ! " 

" Do not suppose, " replied he, " that it is faith which 
affords me that which is generally termed consola- 
tion — I mean alleviation of pain. I can imagine, that 
an unbeliever might suffer less painfully, and for a 
shorter time, than I. Such a one is like a tree, which 
the hghtning strikes only on the sides ; stripping it of 
its bark, which soon grows again. But a heart that 
has already turned itself to the invisible world, presents 
too much of what is inflammable to the lightning's 
flash, and it burns down to the very ground. My 
whole being is in a state of excitement. Every cir- 
cumstance of my past and present life has been 
brought into judgment before the tribunal of God ! and 



120 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



you may imagine how a mortal stands there. God 
has shown me what I am, and what I deserve. I have 
not only lost my wife, I had even lost my own life and 
existence. But, thank God ! I have found them all 
again in the hands of my Redeemer." 

" You have the greatest certainty, " continued I, 
" which a Christian can have, that your dear partner 
is not separated from you for ever." 

" Not merely this," interrupted he, energetically ; 
" I know still more ; I know that she surrounds me ; 
that she is near me ; and that if I choose, even the 
solitary and desolate life I now lead may be spent in 
her society, even as it was previously spent. Does 
she not know, even as she is known ; and is she not 
able, in the Omniscient, to recognize me and her poor 
children ? Or does the invisible world only begin where 
the remotest stars vanish from the sphere of the teles- 
cope ? Rather, is not the invisible world the centre, 
support, and basis of this visible world, without which 
the latter must sink into ruin ? It is blindness and 
nothing else, which prevents us from always seeing 
heaven open, and the heavenly hosts ascending and 
descending. She has been near to my heart, and will 
always continue present with it. I shall speak to her 
as formerly, and shall hear her answers ; by which 
means my deepest convictions, which always harmo- 
nized with hers, will become the more evident to me. 



LETTER XXVI. 121 

A lucid understanding, and animated feelings, will 
speak to me as formerly, in singular conjunction from 
her lips and her looks. I will ask her advice, when 
at a loss how to act — and how often will not that be 
the case now ? But it will not be her advice alone ; 
the Lord, by whom she was so highly favoured, will 
suggest to me, at the proper time, that which she her- 
self would have done. Death, which merely separates 
the living soul from its clayey tenement, does not 
quench the tender solicitude which is felt, whilst in the 
body, for our children and those to whom we are the 
most strongly attached. Love is immortal in its na- 
ture ; and unites those in spirit whom death divides ; 
and what is more natural than the supposition, that 
such a departed friend and partner of our being is still 
about us, and that their felicity is enhanced by being 
permitted to minister unto us ? What delight, there- 
fore, will my beatified consort feel, in acting as the 
guardian angel of myself and my children, in defending 
us from unforeseen dangers, and in wafting refreshing 
breathings of consolation to us in the midst of our sor- 
rows ! and especially when the hour of death ap- 
proaches, who are more likely to sympathize in the 
struggles of dissolving nature, and to receive our de- 
parting spirits, than those who have endured the same 
conflict, and whose sufferings our sympathy and affec- 
tion have striven as much as possible to alleviate ? " 

i 



122 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



c *'Oh that all had such clear and distinct views of 
the life to corne/' exclaimed I, " as those which 
present themselves before your eyes ! " 

'•'How is that possible/' rejoined he, " unless ah 
would consent to be instructed by Christ, and by him 
alone ? Instead of this, they resort to the investiga- 
tion of human nature, with which they are in reality 
unacquainted : or inquire of the omnipotence and 
wisdom of God, of which they know little ; and from 
hence proceeds a dry, rational, obscure belief in the 
immortality and duration of the soul's existence, 
which cannot pour one drop of balm into the wounded 
heart. Or if they apply to Christ, they attend solely 
to the fact of his resurrection : but the great differ- 
ence between the latter and ours, can only fill the 
mind with timid astonishment. The re -animation of 
body and soul, which took place with him at once, is 
in our case divided by thousands of years ; since, 
though the soul is immediately clothed with a heavenly 
body, the earthly body is only torn from the power 
of death at the day of the great resurrection. We 
must abide by the death of Christ : everything will 
then become plain, and clear, and obvious to our view. 
Why should he have redeemed me, if I were not to 
live for ever ? What else than the awful fate which 
awaited me in eternity could have induced him rather 
to lay down his own life, than see me perish eternally r 



LETTER XXVI. 



123 



But what has he redeemed ? Merely some abstract 
part of me ? Xo ; but my whole being, which is 
limited at present on even* hand, and every thing 
which is not material and subject to decay. My 
human nature, as it now is, delivered only from the 
pollution and punishment of sin, shall live eternally 
with him. He, the Creator, who showed himself in 
this world as a person and an individual, will not 
have cloudy forms, but persons and individuals about 
him ; he will there converse with them, and love 
them, even as he did his followers here. From his 
death, the representation of a great, glorious, pecu- 
liarlv active, moveable and heavenly existence pre- 
sents itself to me. In that assembly I behold also 
my dear and beloved consort, in her radiant robe and 
resplendent crown ; and believe in her intercourse 
with the Lord with the greater certainty, since he 
was the third in our bond of union." 

e( Such a light," said he, after a pause, during 
which his attention had been drawn to the moon- 
beams, which brightly shone into the apartment — 
" such a light is the proper kind of illumination for 
the graves of the dead. Will you accompany me ? " 

We went along the same road which the funeral 
procession had taken on the day of interment. The 
bustle of the town, which had so animatedly sur- 
rounded us on that occasion, now began to die away, 
i 2 



124 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



On the squares and open spaces stood the solitary 
palaces and churches, as majestically as if they were 
not the works of man, but of nature. We were 
met by a few groups of persons, who seemed to have 
been spending the evening in the cheerful family circle. 
Through narrow streets, into which no moon-light 
fell, we approached the suburb in which the burying - 
ground is situate. My friend opened the door and 
said, " I go in and out here unhindered." The first 
thing that struck my eyes on entering, was the tomb- 
stone, on which the moon-light shone, which my 
friend had caused to be erected on the grave of his 
wife ; he pointed it out to me, and said, " This is the 
light-house to which I steer ! " We approached it, 
after passing over footpaths, graves, and the grassv 
turf which was wet with dew, and placed ourselves 
on the bench near the grave. When we left it on 
the morning of interment, only a miserable sand-hill 
— -a rising wave amongst so many others, on the 
ocean of mortality — pointed out the place where so 
much happiness lay buried. The wave had now con- 
solidated itself, and become an island. The sand-hill 
was covered with green turf on the sides, and planted 
on the top with flowers ; it was enclosed by an iron 
railing, which left the necessary space for another 
grave beside it. At the head, an upright stone was 
erected. Trees, bushes, flowers, as if they had sprung 



LETTER XXYI. 



125 



up by magic, vegetated there, perfuming the air, and 
seemingly occupying the place in the absence of the 
mourners, and interpreting their feelings. 

" What fables are invented," I began, " concern- 
ing the terrors of a church-yard in the night time ! 
We are here in the church -yard at this late hour, 
and yet neither of us is afraid." 

" Of what should we be afraid," rejoined he, " and 
why should not we visit this great dormitory of man- 
kind as well by night as by day ? C ould I anticipate 
that she would visit me here, I would certainly very 
rarely leave this hillock. But I must confess, that 
here at her tomb I am more conscious of her absence 
than her presence." 

" If that be the case," rejoined I, " why do you 
visit ft? " 

" You do not entirely understand what I mean," 
continued he. " When I stood by her corpse — espe- 
cially when the features of death were visible in her 
countenance — it was so clearly said to me, 1 This is 
not she ; it is only her garment, which she has laid 
aside ; and at this thought my spirit elevated itself 
after hers to its heavenly habitation. Here, at this 
tomb, I feel something similar ; the spirit, which 
once animated this dust, more clearly separates itself 
from it in my idea, and this grassy hillock is for me 
a sublime and commanding point of view, from 



126 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



whence my eye can penetrate deep into eternity. I 
feel strangely/' added lie after a pause, during which 
he seemed to sink into past recollections, "when J 
reflect that the very thing which I have attempted 
to express to you, was pointed out to me, in happier 
times, in an emblematical manner." 
" In which way ? " asked I. 

" Of late years," replied he, " I was frequently 
under the necessity of visiting a bathing place with 
my wife. On the second or third evening after our 
arrival there the first time, we heard a funeral dirge 
from a neighbouring hill. The wife of one of the 
directors of the bathing institution was dead, and 
her remains had there been solemnly committed to 
the earth. A few days after, we visited the place. 
We had a considerable hill to ascend, by a path 
planted with lime trees. Towards the summit, we 
reached a wood, which stretched away far to the 
right. We found the grave of the lady under the 
first oaks and beech-trees ; she had there sought 
health, but had found death, or rather real restora- 
tion. We had beneath us, to the left, one of the 
most pleasing landscapes I have ever beheld ; and this 
place was frequently visited by those who resorted to 
the baths, as well as by ourselves, in order to enjoy 
the view. We sat upon a bench, and had close 
behind us the dark shades of the wood, in which was 



LETTER XXVI. 



127 



the new made grave. Before us, we had a blooming 
and fruitful vale, interspersed with cottages and red- 
roofed houses, and intersected by two high roads 
planted with trees. Two chains of hills, which run 
parallel to each other, inclosed us at the two sides ; 
and in the place where they touched each other, a 
prospect was afforded into another valley, and of still 
more distant hills, whose blue forms dawned in the 
horizon. There we often sat, long and silently, with 
solemn and melancholy feelings. From the obscurity 
of the wood and the vicinity of the grave, our looks 
extended further and further into the lighter space, 
which opened out to us, and sought to penetrate 
through the hilly defile from the nearest valley into 
the one beyond. I knew not, at that time, the 
signification of all this. Oh how strangely are the 
same things repeated ! As then, I now sit also near 
a grave, in dark and profound obscurity ; but beyond 
the grave, a prospect unfolds itself to me, into an 
innumerable series of light and blissful valleys ; and 
there, as here, a grave is the best point of view for 
enjoying this prospect." 

" This beloved grave," said I, "is therefore in 
reality holy ground to you, and a gate of heaven." 
"But," continued I, " what did you intend. by say- 
ing lately, that what took place with Christ at his 



128 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



resurrection, as it respects us, is divided by thou- 
sands of years r " 

"In the resurrection of Jesus/' answered he, 
"we see body and soul immediately restored, united, 
and glorified. Thus it became Him, who, as regards 
his human nature, as well as his body and his soul, 
was without sin and blameless. Death had no power 
over him ; it could retain no part of him. But such 
is not the case with us ! Whilst our souls are rescued 
from perdition, we are compelled to leave the body, 
which is a part of our being, behind, as a prey to 
death. On this he exercises his power ; and ceases 
not until he has crushed the whole fabric, and dis- 
solved it into dust. Let him do so ! The mercy of 
God renders the work of destruction a means of 
purification. Even as the soul is washed in the blood 
of Jesus Christ — so the body, during the lapse of 
hundreds and thousands of years, is purged in the 
mysterious chambers of corruption from its dross. 
It is the whole mass of believers which forms the 
body of Christ ; hence all, with few exceptions, will 
be resuscitated, restored, and raised, at the same time, 
since they that have preceded us, will not be made 
perfect without us. The soul, which had laid aside 
a body full of pain and disease, as a wearisome 
burden, finds it again, divested of every ignoble 
ingredient, and changed as into pure gold, which she 



LETTER XXVI* 



129 



therefore puts on as a brilliant ornament. Thus at 
the last day the church, which is his body, will stand 
before the glorified Redeemer, likewise glorified in 
body and soul, and none of them shall be wanting. 

" Therefore the earth/' added I, " does not pre- 
serve its treasures in the rich veins of mines, but in 
its graves ; and shortly before its destruction will be 
astonished at the glories which shall be revealed bv 
the opening graves." 

" For mine/' continued he, " I have selected a 
place near my beloved consort. Along this road will 
my corpse be carried ; and this iron railing, which now T 
incloses the spot, will open to receive it. My re- 
mains will then sleep with hers during the long night ; 
whilst my spirit, united with hers, will look dowm 
upon this place, and await the great day of the Lord's 
last revelation. For me and for her the same 
flowers will bloom, the same weeping willows extend 
their branches to the earth ; until, in the course of 
years, even those who knew us are dead, and no one 
will know any more, who lies buried here. But the 
providence of God will watch over these graves, even 
when men trouble themselves no more about them. 
Meanwhile, I have besought the Lord that a stay at 
this spot may be blessed to me, and to all who visit 
it, by the inspiration of pious thoughts. I myself 
have always experienced this blessing. As often as 



130 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



I have carried hither the deep sorrow which lies so 
heavily upon me, it has been wonderfully alleviated, 
under prayers and tears." 

Here he was silent, and seemed to be praying to 
himself. The shadow of the boughs of. the linden 
tree, moved by the breath of night, played in the 
moon-light on the tombstone. The air was perfumed 
with flowers, which adorned this and other graves. 
The midnight hour sounded from a neighbouring 
turret. The gates of the invisible world unfolded 
themselves to me also. I saw, in spirit, the Lord 
upon his throne. In the circle of the blest which 
surrounded him, I distinguished my father and mother. 
My unhappy friend, on whom I — much more un- 
happy than he — had inflicted a doubly mortal wound, 
stood at their side. They looked down upon me 
compassionately, but in a friendly manner, and 
seemed to point out to me the place ; which was pre- 
pared for me also, and to which I might attain on the j 
prescribed path. I sank into a longing after the 
felicity offered to me, and entreated Him with 
whom nothing is impossible, to enable me to lead a 
pious life, and to grant me a happy death. 6 Where 
shall I live ? ' thought I. ' Where shall I die ? 
Where will my earthly remains repose after death ? 
Be it all as thou pleasest, O Lord ! Only let me die 
in thy favour! * 



LETTER XXVI. 



131 



Steindorf had risen up ; I followed ; we returned 
slowly and silently from the churchyard, through the 
empty streets of the city ; which resembled a huge 
churchyard, since its inhabitants were reposing in 
the arms of sleep, which is a brother of death. 

c< I intend receiving the sacrament next Sunday/ 5 
said Steindorf on taking leave ; " have you any desire 
to accompany me ? >! 



132 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XXVII. 

Steindorf's last words have left a kind of sting 
behind them in my heart. To his question, whether 
I would receive the sacrament the following Sunday 
(it was then Tuesday), I could only answer in an 
embarrassed manner, that I did not know. I could 
not sleep that night ; for the question, whether I 
ought to receive the sacrament or not, continually 
recurred to me. The figure of the tombstone, irra- 
diated by the moon-light, sometimes presented itself 
in a tranquillizing and sleep-inviting manner to my 
half- closed eyes ; but I was again awoke by the un- 
answered question. Morning has arrived, but I am 
still irresolute. Oh that whilst I write my thoughts 
might regulate themselves, and form a decision within 
me ! 

How happy do I esteem those who, following 
definite principles and an often recurring necessity, 
approach frequently, during the year, to the table of 
the Lord ; who, whilst becoming partakers of the 
blessing of that sacred ordinance, overcome the natural 
timidity which is felt in the presence of the Most High ; 
and who can say, with confidence and the hope of Divine 



LETTER XXVII. 



133 



and spiritual refreshment, "I will go to receive the 
sacrament to morrow." I, on the contrary, unhappy 
mortal as I am ! who after having once communicated 
have suffered so many years to pass over without re- 
peating the observance of the sacred rite ; who, with 
reference to it, neither possessed any principle, nor 
felt any necessity ; who, during my former course of 
life, could not have received the sacrament without 
committing a most dreadful sin — I must now, when be- 
ginning, or at least inclined, to amend my life, feel 
myself deterred by stupid fear and apprehension from 
that for which others long as a cordial and a refreshing 
ordinance ! 

If all those who doubt of or ridicule the truths of 
faith ; all those who refrain from attending church. 
Divine service, and the sacrament, to which latter 
class I myself belong — if all were to utter the feelings 
of their hearts, as freely as I now do towards you, 
they would be obliged to confess, that this ordinance 
which they labour to degrade into one of the most 
common usages of the church, is surrounded, as it 
respects themselves, by a majesty which excites vene- 
ration and even awe ! 

Were I to take an oath, the civil society which 
spoke to me by its deputy, and the presence of God 
which would speak to me by his threatenings, would 



134 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



fill my mind with terror and dismay, even while I 
was uttering the truth. 

And yet I should have spoken the truth, and have 
fulfilled my duty in this particular instance ; and with 
reference to it have had nothing to fear, either as it 
respects civil punishment or the Divine retribution. 
But have I even fulfilled every thing, or can I fulfil 
all that is required of me with reference to the sacra- 
ment ? and all that is included in the awful words of 
the Apostle Paul, that we are not to eat of that bread 
and drink of that cup unworthily. Unworthily ! Oh, 
who is worthy in such a case ! And if ye be so, ye 
who have shone and still shine as stars in the Chris- 
tian religion ; or even ye, who have moved in the 
limits of a contracted, dull, but devout life — am I so, 
who have done nothing to the glory of God, and have 
a thousand times broken the boundaries of his laws ? 

" He that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth 
and drinketh judgment to himself/' Judgment ! 
Therefore 1 am not invited, but repelled. I hear no 
voice, which promises me blessings, peace, and joy ; 
I only hear the threatening of judgment. Whilst 
seeking for comfort and consolation, I might expose 
mvself to punishment. I will therefore rather give 
up the hope of the former, in order that I may avoid 
the latter. 

What a majestic community is the Church ! It 



LETTER XXVII. 



135 



imparts a feeling of awe to my mind. The saints, and 
those that are pure in heart, stand in lesser and 
increasingly larger circles around the Lord, and they 
will not suffer one that is impure and annihilated to 
approach near him. If I receive the sacrament, would 
not that be an attempt to place myself in their circles — 
a declaration that I esteem myself worthy of the same 
privileges which they enjoy ? Be such presumption 
far from me ! Has not the Church also, in times 
when it felt its dignity more than at present, 
known how to secure its holy things from profana- 
tion ? Was not, at that period, exclusion from the 
sacrament of the altar the punishment of a sinful life ? 
The penitents lay upon the ground at the doors of 
the church, and entreated with many tears the inter- 
cessions of the faithful, who were permitted to enter 
the temple ? After a long examination, and after 
they had proved the reality of their change of senti- 
ments and conduct, they were absolved from the 
sentence of excommunication, and permitted to 
enjoy the communion of the sacrament. When I 
feel, as I now do, that amongst those penitents there 
w^ere many better, much better than I, ought not my 
conscience to exercise severity towards me, in that 
wherein the church has become negligent ? Ah ! and 
when will it be again permitted to absolve me from 
the excommunication which it must necessarily pro- 
nounce upon me ? 



136 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



The members of the Reformed Church refuse, accord- 
ing to Zuingli's example, to acknowledge, in the Lord's 
supper, any thing more than an ordinance in which the 
memory of Jesus is celebrated. But supposing that 
something much more profound were included in it r 
Supposing it were like the birth and death of an indivi- 
dual, and in a still superior sense, a point of contact 
between them and eternity ? Were it nothing more 
than a rite in memory of Jesus, it ought always to fill 
me with profound veneration ; but would it be able to 
impart such mysterious awe, as that which I feel at it 
now ? My feelings tell me that the sacrament is some- 
thing more than the church, in which I have grown 
up, has taught me. And when I inquire of the Scrip- 
tures, I find that they confirm this idea, " My body, 
my blood ! " Luther felt the power of these words ; 
thev continually pressed themselves upon his mind in 
their literal sense ; and I confess, that the case is the 
same with me. It is therefore the body and blood 
of Christ which I receive ; and as such, Christ himself ; 
for how can I separate him from his body and blood ? 
Could I dare to appear before him ? Shall I, when 
eventually obliged to stand before him, be able to bear 
the sight r And now that he comes to me, shall I 
be able to receive him ? I stand here ori the bound- 
aries of the invisible world ; I come into contact with 
it ; its powers communicate themselves to me ; am 



LETTER XXVII. 



137 



I in a suitable state for trie beneficial reception of the 
sacred ordinance ? If not, it will only tend to my con- 
demnation. Nothing on earth can be so holy as the body 
and blood of Jesus Christ. But with the sanctity of the 
object, increases, in like manner, the guilt of him who 
profanes it ; he who receives the sacrament unworthily, 
is guilty of the body and blood of the Lord. Oh, my 
guilt is sufficiently great ! ought I to sin directly against 
the Lord himself, by the profanation of his body and 
blood ? No, I will rather postpone it ; after some time 
I may perhaps be less unworthy. 



K 



138 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



LETTER XXVIII. 



I have been again very nearly on the point of falling 
into the snares of the enemy of my salvation. I now 
perceive that it was he who suggested all the scruples 
with which my last letter to yon was filled. He is 
never more dangerous, than when, in order to attain 
his fatal designs, he makes use of that reverential awe 
with which the holiness and justice of God necessa- 
rily inspire us. Corrupt human nature, which always 
gladly remains at a distance from God, then imagines 
that he himself enjoins it ; and rejoices at being justi- 
fied in despairing, by reason itself, and the best im- 
pulses of the heart. This delusion, however, is easily 
dispelled ; and hence the temptation is, on the one 
hand, a very absurd one ; but, on the other, it is 
only the more subtle ; for it addresses itself to our 
innate disinclination towards God by reason of sin ; 
and regarded from this point of view, even the wisest 
suffer themselves to be outwitted by folly. I ought 
to have been acquainted with this obsolete stratagem, 
and my sinfulness to which it had reference. I felt in- 
deed those inward workings, which ought to precede the 
reception of the sacrament ; and that I ought entirely to 



LETTER XXVIII. 



139 



empty my heart of self-love, and surrender it unre- 
servedly to Christ. But I was afraid to do this, 
through an impious, mean, and cowardly fear ; and 
this I concealed under a reverence for God : and thought 
I honoured him, whilst by my mistrust I grievously 
offended him. 

To this was added a sinful pride, which disguised 
itself under the mask of a striving after perfection. I 
was desirous of bringing the Lord something — a num- 
ber of days or months, sanctified by diligent reading 
of the Bible, prayer, and perhaps also by almsgiving 
and works of mercy. Wretch that I am ! I did not 
reflect that we can never bring Him anything, but only 
receive from him ; that however well things might 
stand with me, I should still be unable to bring him 
anything ; that the most perfect of his saints has never 
brought him any thing ; that every thing depends 
solely upon presenting the heart, as a perfectly empty 
vessel, to the fountain of Divine grace, thptt the latter 
may fill it entirely ; and that such an annihilation of 
self is more easy to the sinner during the first strong 
feelings of repentance and faith, than to the further 
advanced believer, if he have forgotten the renunci- 
ation of himself in the path of life. 

I have already informed you, how, in the dreadful 
conflict I one night sustained, I was able fully to re- 
ceive the merits of Jesus Christ, only after completely 
k2 



140 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



renouncing, or rather annihilating, myself. I have 
once more endured this struggle, which was however 
easier the second time than the first. And when "by 
degrees every thing was again taken from me, and I 
retained nothing for myself, my fear of Christ and of 
his holy sacrament also disappeared ; and I was con- 
vinced that He invited me to it. 

And though the latter were not the case, yet will I 
venture to appear. Must he always call ? Can we 
go to him only when he commands and encourages us 
to do so ? Does the friend repair to his friend only 
when expressly invited ? Impelled by the wish to see 
him, he visits him, even though he run the risk of be- 
ing troublesome to him. And ought not love to Christ 
to produce a similar boldness ? He is become the ob- 
ject of my affections ; his image presents itself even 
involuntarily to my view ; I often find myself sighing 
in secret, f Oh that I were where thou art ! ' Well 
then, I will go wherever He is. " Love casteth out 
fear, " says the Apostle John, who, because he love 
him, ventured to lie on the bosom of him who is the 
centre of the universe, and to feel the beating of that 
powerful heart, whose goings forth in love or wrath 
bring life or destruction upon his creatures. When 
my departed spirit shall once behold him throned in 
the midst, between the saved and the lost ; and see 
what infinite thrills of delight or of horror are the re- 



LETTER XXVIII. 



141 



suit of it ; I shall think neither of the blest nor of the 
lost ; nor of what may be awaiting me — whether hea- 
venly felicity or endless woe : Him alone shall I be- 
hold ; and this sight will impel me to cast myself at 
his feet, in order that he may do with me as seemeth 
him good, and whatever ma^/ promote his glory. I 
am also now about to approach him at his table — -for 
there he is present — -unconcerned respecting the con- 
sequences. 

I cannot precisely say, that I have any particular 
intention, or any clearly defined wish, in so doing. It 
is true I require consolation, for I am on the whole very 
melancholy ; I require invigoration for the renewal 
of my strength and the great labour which I must un- 
dergo. Perhaps I may find both ; perhaps only deeper 
melancholy, and a more profound feeling of my weak- 
ness. Be that as it may, let him deal with me ac- 
cording to his good pleasure ; I seek nothing besides 
him — not even what he bestows ; I seek Him alone. 

That sinful woman, who, when he sat at meat with 
the Pharisee, came behind him, washed his feet with 
her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, 
I do not think had any particular object m view in so 
doing. She wished to approach him ; and in this 
feeling, her fear of perdition, and desire for salvation, 
probably disappeared. His permitting her thus to 
wash and wipe his feet, was perhaps even more bene- 



142 



CONFESSIONS OP ADALBERT. 



ricial to her than the assurance that her sins were for- 
given her. Thus I approach, without any other in- 
tention than that of receiving his body and blood. 
If this be granted me, I leave all the rest to him. 

The Lord has made use of an expression, which 
might revive us, were we even dead through fear of 
his presence : " Him that cometh unto me, I will in 
no wise cast out." Now, O Lord, thou knowest 
that I am coming to thee. I have renounced myself, 
so that nothing remains in my whole being but the 
desire after thee. Thou knowest also, that amongst 
the innumerable treasures which thou offerest us at thy 
table, my wishes and desires are fixed on thee alone. 
Hadst thou told us to present thee with long years of 
a blameless life, and many good works which have 
been wrought in thee — I would not approach ; for I 
have nothing of all this. But thou only desirest that 
we should come, and this is given me. I come there- 
fore, and my expectation is founded on the letter of 
thy promise, " I will in no wise cast out." I am well 
aware that thou doest more than thou promisest ; and 
that in another place thou hast promised rest and 
refreshment to the weary and heavy laden who come 
unto thee. But my wishes do not soar so high ; 
only do not cast me out. This thou hast promised ; 
therefore I will now come. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



143 



LETTER XXIX. 



Being ignorant of the usages observed in this 
place at the reception of the Lord's Supper, I 
requested Steindorf to permit me to call upon and 
accompany him. The communicants here proceed to 
the vestry immediately before Divine service, where, 
after an address from the clergyman, and making a 
general confession of sin, they receive absolution. 
They divide themselves into several groups, according 
as they feel connected by relationship, friendship, or 
similarity of sentiment. Such a group was just ema- 
nating from the vestry as we entered, and to our 
astonishment we found ourselves alone ; probably 
because the rest had already presented themselves, 
and we were rather too late. Our situation, which 
already began to intimidate me, seemed to have in it 
something particularly exciting for the clergyman. 
After a few moments of silent reflection, he lifted up 
his head, and whilst regarding both of us — but parti- 
cularly Steindcrf, with whom he must have been ac- 
quainted — with an ardent lock, he exclaimed, " Ye 
are come to Mount Zion, and unto the city of the 
living God 3 the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innu- 



144 



CONFESSIONS 0 7 \D ALBERT 



merable company of angels, to the general assembly 
and church of the first born, which are written in 
heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits 
of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the mediator 
of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling 
that speaketh better things than that of Abel. — From 
whence are ye come?" continued he, toning towards 
Steindorf; "from the house, which was formerly a 
habitation of joy, but which is now changed into a 
house of mourning — from the night of pain, which 
deprives the day of its light, and makes the night 
still more gloomy — from the grave which envelopes 
the remains of her whom your heart loves. And 
whither are you going ? To Mount Zion, the city of 
the living God, and the heavenly Jerusalem ! There 
is the abode of eternal joy ; there shines a light which 
nothing can obscure; no death can ever enter there. 
Whither are you going ? To an innumerable company 
of angels ; and to the church of the first-born, who 
are written in heaven. Do you not perceive, amongst 
those many thousand angels, her whose company 
here below you enjoy no more, cognizable by her 
pre-eminent brightness and peculiar glory ? Behold 
how she directs her looks towards you, and to the 
pledges of your love, which she has left you. Thither 
vou are come in spirit ! there yon will eventually 
enter ; be comforted with these words. 



LETTER XXIX. 



145 



" Whence are you come ?" exclaimed lie, address- 
ing me. And how was I astonished at hearing words, 
which could not have been better selected, had he 
been minutely acquainted with my state and history. 
And why should not that which pious divines utter at 
such seasons, be given them from above ? " Whence 
are you come ?" exlaimed he. "From the desert of 
this world, where an ungodly philosophy points to 
the hill which it has formed of sand, as the city of 
the living God ; where sin hews out broken cisterns, 
and collects filthy water to mock the thirst of its 
servants ; where the scene grows more and more 
lonely, and becomes increasingly terrific about the 
wanderer, until at length he remains alone with 
his worst enemy — with, himself ? Whither are you 
come ? — to the blood of sprinkling, which speaketh 
better things than that of Abel. Happy are you ! 
You have found the way from the desert to the pro- 
mised land — to Mount Calvary — to the cross on which 
the sacrifice bleeds, which atones for the sins of the 
world, and therefore for yours ! 

"To whom are ye comer" exclaimed he, regard- 
ing us both, and stretching out his hand towards us, 
as though he were a servant sent by the Lord to wel- 
come us. "Ye are come to Jesus, the mediator of 
the new covenant. By whom else but by him, can 



146 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



you ever find again what you have lost, or obtain 
what you require ? By whom else than by him 
can you be introduced into the company of the 
angelic hosts, from whose midst sin has expelled you? 
But where is he ? He awaits you at his sacred table. 
Doubt not that it is he who presents himself to you 
under the emblems of bread and wine. When he 
walked upon earth, the man was only seen ; yet that 
man was God. At his sacred supper, only earthly 
food is seen ; but it is the body and blood of the Lord. 
Approach, therefore, to the joy of your Lord; but 
first confess that you appear, trusting to his grace, 
and not to your own righteousness." 

The confession of sin was then read ; its expres- 
sions were severe. I willingly repeated them, and 
rejoiced at being permitted to acknowledge my entire 
sinfulness and unworthiness, not merely before God, 
but also before other men. 

We removed to the church, and Steindorf opened 
a pew. After I had seated myself at the end of it, 
he said, " Give up your place to me ; my wife always 
sat there." 

The church was crowded. I seemed to mysel 
like a single stalk in a large corn-field, and besought 
the Holy Spirit that his rushing, whilst it moved the 
rest, might not leave me untouched. 



LETTER XXIX. 



147 



The assembled multitude lifted up their voices in 
singing the solemn melody of a hymn, which was 
loudly accompanied by the organ. The power of the 
music fell at first with strong effect upon my ear, 
and with an oppressive feeling on my breast. After 
being a little accustomed to it, it sounded to me as if 
the rustling of the woods, and the roaring of the 
ocean, had partially dissolved themselves in harmony 
to the honour of God. I then seemed to hear the 
war- song of an army, which had marched out against 
the enemies of light, and felt excited to take part in 
the conflict and the victory. At the close, I imagined 
I heard a response from the eternal choirs, who 
always praise the glory of the Lord in the upper sanc- 
tuary. 

The moment when the organ and the singing are 
mute, is so affecting and sublime, that only God, and 
not man, ought then to speak. This was the case 
here. The text preceded the exordium of the sermon . 
It was as follows ; " I stand at the door and knock ; 
if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will 
come in and sup with him, and he with me." 

When the sermon was ended, which captivated me 
from the commencement to the close, a thrilling sen- 
sation pervaded me; for the communion was now 
about to commence. 

Introductory addresses, prayers, and, finally, the 



14S 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



words of consecration, were pronounced from the 
altar. Steindorf, whom I heard weeping aloud, knelt 
near me. I could not weep ; my heart was too much 
agitated. Half-formed thoughts and ideas, such as 
these : ' Lord, who hast delivered me, and whom I 
am now desirous of confessing — Sin, distress, and 
anxiety of my former life, which I leave behind me 
— Father and mother, bless your son — Jesus accept 
me V flashed through my soul, like unutterable sighs, 
which became a prayer by their direction towards 
heaven. But all at once a fiery dart of the wicked 
one was shot at me. My thoughts adhered firmly to 
the unhappy duel, and the consequences which fol- 
lowed it; nor could I detach them from it. I tugged 
like a warrior anxious to hasten to the battle, at the 
lance, which meanwhile has taken root in the earth. 
It seemed as if an arm proceeded forth from the 
clouds to lift me up, whilst at the same time a hand 
held me firmly to the earth. My trepidation increased 
to such a degree that I lost all consciousness. 

The administration of the ordinance had already com- 
menced : and the words of the officiating clergymen, 
which they pronounced on presenting the bread and 
wine, were heard through the singing of the choir. 
Steindorf had risen up, and was about to approach the 
altar. I was still upon my knees. At length I took 
courage, and inwardly exclaimed, ' Lord, if thou art 



LETTER XXIX. 



149 



in earnest with thy promise that thou wilt not cast 
, me out, now show it ! now help V and he did so. 
! I was able to rise up, and ascended, like a person 
half insensible, the steps of the altar. I there received 
the sacred elements. Suddenly my whole mind was 
filled with peace, serenity, and a tender melancholy. 
The supernatural certainty of standing in fellowship 
with the Lord, and participating in all the blessings 
of eternal life, had imparted itself to me. I was able 
to weep, and ate of the bread and drank of the wine 
whilst shedding plentiful but blissful tears. 

After I had returned to my place, I threw myself 
again on my knees, but with entirely different feelings 
to those I had experienced before. My whole soul 
was dissolved in infinite thankfulness, and in the desire 
to belong entirely to the Lord, who had accepted me, 
and to glorify him, whether living or dying. 

The communion lasted a long time. To me it 
seemed as though it might have lasted for ever ; so 
greatly was I elevated above the limits of time and 
space. If the whole world had come thither, one 
after the other, to seek strength and consolation, 
I it would not have seemed strange to me ; I would 
I have rejoiced on seeing them all on the way to salva- 
>' tion. I would gladly have seen them ascend the 
steps of the altar, and have unwillingly seen them 
descend those steps, even as I unwillingly descended 



150 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



them. I now sat in a state of abstraction ; nor did 
I wish to think, or speak, even to the Lord himself. 
I only kept my eye fixed upon him, and was tranquil 
in his presence, in order to hear if he spoke to me. 

This communion — in reality my first — passed over, 
like every thing here below. Happy are we, that in 
heaven an endless one awaits us. The benediction, 
which I received, and took away with me in my heart, 
was then pronounced upon us. With a warm pres- 
sure of the hand, I took leave of Steindorf at the 
church door. 

[N. B. The chapter succeeding this in the origi- 
nal, has been omitted, in consequence of its treating 
solely upon the Lutheran view of the Sacrament, 
which is not entertained in this country.] 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



151 



LETTER XXX. 

I have very unexpectedly met with an old acquaint- 
ance. He is a young clergyman from Switzerland, of 
the name of Theophilus Gaillard, who formerly visit- 
ed my native town occasionally, and whose cheerful 
deportment pleased me much at that time. On leav- 
ing the church, where four weeks previous I had re- 
ceived the sacrament, and which, since that time, I 
regularly attend ; I met with him as he was also 
coming out of the church. He was the more grati- 
fied at having found me, since he knew little of the 
place, and had only made few acquaintances. The 
sight of him was to me both pleasing and painful, as 
were also the times which he recalled to my recollec- 
tion. At my invitation, he accompanied me to my 
lodgings. " I should never have thought, " began he 
jocosely, " to have found you again in this country, 
in this city, and, I must add, at divine worship. The 
church, my friend, was formerly a place which vou did 
not even visit." 

" I must retaliate upon you, " answered I ; " for 
although you are a theologian, yet you were also not 
often to be found there." 



152 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



" What would you have ? " replied he, in a frank and 
open manner : " I have a great inclination to be so- 
ciable ; I am musical, I sing, I dance ; and thus I have 
duly enjoyed my life. Besides, it was my intention 
to have abandoned divinity, and have become a tutor 
in some noble family. But one grows older, and more 
serious reflections are made ; in short, I have resolved 
to abide by my theology, and am seeking to obtain 
a benefice as soon as possible in my native land." 

" And what is the object of your journey hither ? " 
inquired I. 

" Look you/' said he ; " I may indeed be reproached 
with lukewarmness towards religion and the church ; 
but I am nevertheless sincere in my intentions. It 
seemed to me that I should not be acting conscienti- 
ously, were I to enter into office before I was decided 
as to my views of the Christian religion, according to 
which I should afterwards preach. I wished to establish 
my principles, and form a system for myself ; this was 
the reason of my coming to Germany." 

" Do you hope to attain your object here ? " asked 
I with a smile. 

" To be candid, " answered he, " I have exchanged 
emptiness for confusion. I formerly reflected little 
about religion ; and when a different view of it pressed 
itself upon me, I hastened past it. But here the op- 
posites manifest themselves too strongly ; one is com- 



LETTER XXX. 



153 



pelled to take notice of them ; and to come to some 
decision : but this I have been hitherto unable to do.' 5 

" Make me acquainted with these opposites in theo- 
logical sentiments/' said J ; and immediately per- 
ceived that this opportunity of expressing himself as a 
teacher, caused him pleasure. 

" You must know then/' began he, " that there 
are many theologians, who will not admit of a revela- 
tion in its peculiar sense . They regard it as impossible 
that truths, which reason is unable by its own means 
to discover, can be communicated to it in an extraor- 
dinary manner. Accordingly, they contest also the 
historical truth of those facts, which, like the miracles 
and prophecies, might serve to confirm these reveale 
doctrines. On the contrary, the truth of Scripture his- 
tory, and of the most wonderful events which it records, 
is defended to the utmost by others, and protected 
against such attacks. They regard it as a proof, that 
such a superior revelation has been imparted to man ; 
since without it his darkened reason could not have 
found the way to salvation. The corruption of human 
nature, the Divinity of Christ, and redemption through 
his death, are the chief articles of their faith ; whilst 
their opponents, as may be supposed, declare such a 
redemption to be unnecessary and impossible ; and find 
in man himself all the powers and means which he re- 
quires, in order to be good and happy." 

L 



154 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



" I wish you to observe/' continued he, " that those 
who carry on this contest, confine themselves in re- 
ality to the historical view of the subject ; that the one 
party chiefly adopts the doctrines of the Christian reli- 
gion, because they are founded on certain miraculous 
events ; and that the other rejects them along with 
these events. But in the systems of German divines, 
there is a second still more prominent tendency, which 
transfers the whole affair from the sphere of history to 
that of philosophy. Those who follow this direction^ 
attach the greatest importance to the peculiar doctrines 
of religion, and to its historical development in the his- 
tory of mankind ; without adducing, however, the won- 
derful events of sacred history for its establishment. 
Religion in this way is combined at one time with 
philosophy ; it is its popular form, and developes it- 
self, like the latter, from the reasoning faculties ; at 
another, the pious feeling which dwells in individuals, 
and which pervades the church, is suffered to decide 
how much or how little of the doctrines and facts 
of the Christian religion is to be accepted and re- 
ceived/' 

" And as regards yourself, " asked I, " have you 
been able to attain to any certainty and tranquillity, 
either in the historical or philosophical conception of 
religion ? " 

"No," replied he, "neither in the one nor the 



LETTER XXX. 



155 



other. I feel myself attracted by the investigation 
of the books of Scripture and the events recorded in 
them ; I examine the grounds for and against, and 
when I have long and maturely weighed what has 
been said on both sides of the question, I know less 
than ever what to say to it ; my ideas either revolve 
in a circle, or stand completely still ; I have made notes, 
but have come to no conclusion. It goes almost still 
worse with me, when I take up the philosophical view 
of the subject ; for my head, I must confess, is little 
fitted for such speculations. I am easily fatigued, if 
I have to go and seek a long time in order to find that 
which is comparatively trifling. But even when in 
this way I have found something that seems to me to 
be truth — yet the idea troubles me, that it is only a 
human speculation, for which I am unable to point out 
to myself and others any superior credentials/' 

" You have, therefore, been endeavouring/ ' said I, 
" to elevate yourself to faith by means of historical 
and philosophical reasoning, and have not succeeded. 
But ought not the thing in reality to be reversed ? 
Must not faith have been previously excited, in order 
successfully to prosecute such reasoning ? " 

" Excited ! " exclaimed he, whilst regarding me with 
a look of surprise, "how can it possibly be excited, 
unless by historical and philosophical examination ." 

" By an inward feeling of distress," replied I, " and 



156 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



by a necessity, which will not suffer itself to be repelled , 
An individual might find himself placed in a situation , 
in which he knew not how to act, nor how to save 
himself in any other way, than by accepting the re- 
demption offered him by Christ. 5 ' 

M I am astonished," exclaimed he, " at this new idea, 
which, I must confess, seems to me to be novel, ima- 
ginary, and, I might almost say, mystic ; I am still 
more astonished at hearing such an idea from your 
lips ! What do we not live to see ! I could never 
have thought, that you would discover a new means 
of attaining to faith, and that you would direct me 
to it. Formerly, the things which occupied your head 
and your heart, seemed to be of a very different nature. 
Therefore, what was it you said ? an inward feeling 
of distress, a necessity which would not suffer itself 
to be repelled, a situation in which the individual 
knows of no other means of escape than by receiving 
the redemption offered by Christ ? Have you perhaps 
felt yourself placed in such a situation ? have you 
accepted redemption r" 

I regarded him with a fixed look, and said, empha- 
tically, " Yes ! " 

" You believe therefore, " inquired he — 
" I believe," said I, interrupting him, " the divinity 
of Christ, and the forgiveness of sins by Iris death/' 
" You believe in this," asked he further, "because — 



LETTER XXX. 



157 



" Because, 5 ' said I, " in certain states and frames 
of mind, through which I have passed, those truths 
which were previously inanimate and dead to me, 
were suddenlv vivified — took fire, as it were, and with 
their flame reached my spirit and my heart/ 

Ci If it would not be unpleasant," continued he, 
after a pause, " I should like to hear a more particular 
description of these states and frames of mind through 
which you have passed ? '/ 

" An inward experience of this kind/' said I, 
" though on the one hand it is the holiest and most 
secret thing possible, yet on the other it seems to me 
that what we have experienced in this respect, is a 
public good which ought not to be withheld from 
any Christian who desires to be informed respecting 
it/' I then continued, and related with much mental 
emotion, so that I was often interrupted by my own 
feelings, the whole history of the development of my 
inward life, as I have already detailed it to you in my 
letters. I concluded by saying, " and now I ask you, 
if the Holy Scriptures, which enkindled a new life in 
me, when all self-life had become extinct, did not 
prove themselves in my case to be the word of God ? 
whether the redeeming power of the death of Christ 
can ever be a matter of doubt to me, after having so 
clearly experienced it in those dreadful conflicts ? 
Whether I can ever regard myself as the author of 



158 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



my own virtue and my own salvation ; since if I did so, 
I must necessarily immediately feel myself forsaken 
by Christ ? " 

A long pause ensued. He then exclaimed : " Friend, 
you appear to me to have fallen pretty deeply into 
enthusiasm. Do not you perceive yourself, that in 
the states you have described to me, the feelings have 
obtained enormous power, and that the exercise of 
reason was restrained ? " 

** Such states are certainly not correctly estimated/' 
rejoined I, " if we suppose that feeling alone was 
dominant in them. What can or ought to be more 
overpowering than the feelings of a general's mind 
at the commencement of a battle, the result of which 
will decide his own and his country's fate ? But by 
means of this powerful excitement, his eye is not 
obscured, but rendered more acute ; his judgment 
is not confused, but more certain and rapid. All his 
powers are simultaneously in motion, the one sup- 
porting the other ; and thus he is enabled to do 
greater things, than if one of his powers alone were 
active. I can justly apply this comparison to myself; 
for really I have also passed through a great conflict, 
in which nothing less than my salvation was at stake. 
Do you suppose, that in making such a decision, one 
power can be active to the exclusion of the rest ? 
Impossible, for all the powers are then on the stretch ; 



LETTER XXX. 



159 



and shall reason meanwhile sleep ? Really, it is also 
called upon to exert itself to the utmost of its ability. 
It firmly and surely perceives and apprehends that 
which alone can satisfy the craving which is so vividly 
experienced, and avert the dreadful danger. Do you 
suppose, that such-like reflections would succeed 
better if they were commenced without any feeling 
of the importance of the object, without considering 
that on the judgment which we pronounce, depends 
the judgment which the Eternal Judge will eventually 
pronounce upon us? " 

" But, if your reason was so active as you say," 
observed he, " you must either have found out new 
proofs, or have given the old ones another and a 
better form." 

" By no means," answered I ; " since I am not pos- 
sessed of any learned theological culture, I was not 
able to bring before me everything that had been 
said for or against the Divine origin of the Christian 
religion. I have however taken a retrospect of its 
historical phenomena, and attempted, by reflection, 
to apprehend and connect together the doctrines 
which I appropriated to myself. Many things cer- 
tainly remained obscure to me ; notwithstanding which, 
the whole presented itself before me in an harmonious 
form, probably only because I felt myself to be in the 
centre, from whence it ought to be regarded. Those 



160 CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 

who do not stand in this centre, perceive perhaps in 
its stead only caricatures." 

i( And what was it," continued he, " which placed 
you in this centre, as you call it ; " 

" I must believe," rejoined I, (i that it was a higher 
power. This drew me, and I followed; this grave, 
and I received. That which I experienced was cer- 
tainly not against my will ; but it was not in conse- 
quence of my own will, nor bv mv own power." 

••' Hold," exclaimed he; "this is just the point 
where your view degenerates into enthusiasm and 
mysticism ; for you assert that you have received a 
direct impression from a superior order of things/ 3 

" This I do not exactly assert," replied I ; " but I 
believe that a superior influence, the mediate or im- 
mediate nature of which I leave undecided, operated 
in my case. If I may take this for granted in every in- 
considerable circumstance, why not in the most im- 
portant which can possibly befal me : If I reflect 
upon my past life, various concatenations of intention- 
ally arranged events present themselves to mv vie v.- ; 
ah these concentrate themselves in one point, and their 
object is to produce this new life of faith in me. I 
regard as the commencement of the latter, that ever 
memorable morning which I have described to vou : 
and that I, on that morning, took the Bible into mv 
hands, the effect of which would certainly not have 



LETTER XXX. 161 

been so powerful upon me, except under such circum- 
stances — was not that a leading of Providence ? " 

" The causes of each inward or outward event," 
rejoined he, " certainly lie in that which precedes ; 
and it can be fully explained and comprehended, when 
these causes are all ascertained. But when an event 
has been thus explained, it does not follow that it is 
of God." 

" But I have besides that/' answered I, " another 
ground for deducing that from God, which took place 
in me. I ascribe it to him, because it is good." 

" Explain yourself," said he. 

" Why will you compel me," replied I, "to tell 
the plain truth ? My former life, or rather I myself 
in my former life, was not good, but evil. You have 
perhaps heard much to my disadvantage, but I do not 
refer solely to this. I mean the ground of my heart, 
in wilich I felt a repugnance to God and his will, 
and w T as given up to opposite feelings. I have 
thus done much evil, and might, I must confess, 
have committed much more, for the elements of it 
existed within me. But even though I had led a 
blameless life, if the ground of my heart had remained 
the same, I could not in reality have regarded myself 
as amended. I now possess a decided, fervent, and 
I might even say ardent desire to submit myself 
both inwardly and outwardly, entirely to God and his 



162 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



holy will. Formerly my efforts were directed to the 
attainment of every thing after which I lusted ; now 
they are directed to lay aside even-thing that may 
be displeasing to God, I formerly inquired, what 
would become of me : I now ask, what shall I be- 
come ? The commencement, I say, is made ; the 
wish exists to reach the prize ; but I by no means 
assert, that I have attained it, and that I am suddenly 
tranforraed into a saint. T have never more clearly 
perceived, than at present, how much I am wanting in 
order to this. This change in my interior is certainly 
something good. Ought I not to regard it as such : 
Is it not incontestibly so I You see now, that this 
change in me coincides with the reception of the 
doctrines of faith; it is the result of them. Now if 
it is undoubtedly good, it is assuredlv from God ; 
and to me it serves as a Divine confirmation of the 
truth of those very doctrines of faith, by which it has 
been effected." 

'•'This coincidence," said he after some reflection, 
" may be accidental." 

ff Certainly not," exclaimed I, "for if it were so. 
the amendment of the heart might take place even 
by the transition from a believing to an unbelieving 
mode of thinking ; and I ask you if you are serious 
in thinking it possible ? Do you really believe, that 
if, instead of yielding to my present convictions, I 



LETTER XXX. 



163 



had exchanged them for the opposite, I should then 
feel within me the same desire after God, and the 
same readiness to submit to his laws ? Certainly 
not ! I am become different ; or, if this is saying too 
much, I will, with the help of God, become different 
and better, because I believe in Christ." 

" I shall always have this to oppose to your con- 
viction," said he, shaking his head, " that it is purely 
individual, and that you are unable to impart it to 
another." 

I was surprised at this objection, and answered, 
" That may be so, I grant you. But such is the case 
with me ; and if I were the only individual in the 
world, who possessed such a conviction, I should not 
be the less certain of it." 

Cf That is not exactly a good spirit," said he in a 
friendly manner, "that thus^expresses itself in you. 
If you feel so assuredly, that the new life which has 
sprung up within you proceeds from God, and that it 
is produced in you without the co-operation of reason, 
you must also cherish the wish, from love to your 
neighbour, to impart it ; and since reason dwells in 
all men, and since it proceeds upon the same principles 
in all, it must also be competent to act as the instru- 
ment of the universal impartation of your faith." 

Something true seemed to me to lie in this objec- 
tion. I reflected for a while, and then said, " Though 



164 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



reason may act according to the same principles in 
all men, yet all have not had similar experience ; and 
because they do not proceed from the same premises, 
they will not meet in the same results. Give me an 
individual, who has passed through similar states 
with myself; to whom, by his own experience, the 
insufficiency of human ability has been shewn, as 
clearly as was the case with me ; such a one will un- 
derstand me, and I pledge myself not only to touch 
his heart, but also to convince his reason. But I ask 
you, how shall I ever be able to bring another over 
to my sentiments, who contests the reality of the con- 
victions from whence I draw my inferences ? " 

"It is true," rejoined he, " all men do not in- 
wardly experience the same things ; but human na- 
ture is yet the same in all, and - has in every case 
the same necessities. Do not take amiss what I now 
say : that faith which is inimical to reason, and has 
not entered into an alliance with the latter, is not the 
true faith. 

" Well," said I, " an idea has just occurred to me, 
which, crude as it is, I will lay before you. You have 
begotten it in me by what you have just said. Human 
nature has certain universal spiritual necessities, which 
are founded in itself. It is by means of reason 
that man becomes acquainted with his nature, its 
properties, its destiny, and also with those general 



LETTER XXX. 



165 



necessities. Now if reason proves — and I think she 
can and ou°;ht — that it is onlv by the instruction re- 
ceived from Divine revelation, and by those wondrous 
arrangements which it unfolds, that all that is dubious 
in human nature can be explained, the Divine purpose 
with reference to man attained, and the profoundest 
desires of his heart satisfied ; then reason would be 
reconciled with revelation; and far from being an 
enemy to faith, would urgently and imperiously de- 
mand it." 

" If, " said he, " you could lay such a proof, as you 
call it, quite ready and complete before me, who knows ? 
I might also believe." 

" Such a proof, " said I, " has already been some- 
where adduced ; it grieves me that I have not read 
sufficient to be able to refer you to it. I should cer- 
tainlv expect a great effect upon you from such a proof ; 
however, not so much on account of its intrinsic 
power, as because, as I believe, the gracious hand of 
God has already touched your heart, and rendered you 
susceptible of such an impression." 

He rose up, and parted from me with a hearty pres- 
sure of the hand ; whilst I have since frequently re- 
joiced at reflecting upon this conversation, which per- 
haps may not have been entirely fruitless, and in which 
that which Divine grace has wrought in me, also be- 
came much more clear to me, whilst speaking of it ? 



166 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XXXI. 

Since my recent conversation with the young theo- 
logian, of which I gave you the particulars in my last, 
I have often recurred to the idea, which I then express- 
ed, that reason itself, when a correct view is taken of 
human nature, the chief object of man's existence and 
his necessities, must lead to a belief in Divine Revela- 
tion. Meanwhile I have also begun to read the 
' Pensees de Pascal, ' a man of admirable mind, and 
the work itself a real pearl amongst books. What 
force of reason, and what firmness of faith ! This au- 
thor, though he does not enter fully into the subject, 
seems to have apprehended the relation between rea- 
son and revelation much in the same manner as I have 
hinted at it. His sentiments upon this point seemed 
to me so important and instructive, that I have collected 
together and arranged what I found scattered through 
the volume, which might throw light upon the sub- 
ject. You will certainly permit me to communicate it 
to you. 

It must be confessed, that Pascal did not degrade 
reason ; but that he acknowledged its rights, when we 
hear him say, 



LETTER XXXI. 



167 



" Reason is weak indeed, if it do not advance far 
enough to ascertain that there is an infinity of things 
beyond its range. It is well to know when to hesi- 
tate, when to feel certainty, and when to submit. He 

I 

who has not learnt this, has not yet determined the 
true province of reason. 

" If everything be submitted to reason, religion will 
lose all that is mysterious and supernatural. If the 
principles of reason are violated, our religion will be 
absurd and ridiculous. 

" Reason, says St. Augustine, would never yield, 
were it not aware that there are occasions when sub- 
mission is expedient. It is therefore just that it 
should give way, when convinced that it ought to yield ; 
and that it should maintain its ground, when convinced 
that it ought to stand firm ; the important point is to 
guard against err or." 

A case of this kind, in which it becomes reason to 
submit, he seems to have found especially in the doc- 
trine of the fall of man, and original or hereditary sin, 
in consequence of the contradictions in human nature, 
which cannot be solved without this doctrine. 

" If man, " says he, " had never been corrupted, he 
would feel that he was in the quiet and certain posses- 
sion of truth and happiness ; and if he had never been 
pure and innocent, he would be incapable even of the 
idea of felicitv and truth. But wretched as we are, 

|i 



168 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



and far more wretched because of these relics of our 
primeval greatness, we have within us the vision of 
enjoyment, and cannot grasp it — we see the image of 
truth, and embrace falsehood ; incapable both'of abso- 
lute ignorance and assured knowledge. What a proof 
that we once stood upon a lofty footing of perfection, 
and have declined from it ! 

" And what do this powerlessness and eagerness an- 
nounce ? — That true happiness once dwelt in man, but 
nothing now remains, save the trace and empty out- 
line, which he incessantly strives to fill up with all 
that surrounds him; seeking in absent things the help, 
which things present are unable to afford him, and 
which both are incapable of yielding, because this infi- 
nite gulf can only be filled by an infinite and un- 
changeable object." 

fe Man's greatness/' it is said in another place, " is 
also evidenced by his being acquainted with his wretch- 
edness. A tree does not feel itself wretched. But 
though the feeling of wretchedness is also wretched, 
yet this knowledge of our wretchedness is an uncom- 
mon greatness. The wretchedness of man proves 
his greatness ; it is superior wretchedness — the wretch- 
edness of a dethroned monarch." 

" It is wonderful, " exclaims he, when speaking 
of the innate inclination to sin and its propagation, 
" that without the knowledge of this mystery which 



LETTER XXXI. 



169 



lies so remote from us, we should never know our- 
selves ! Reason refuses to acknowledge that, by rea- 
son of the sin of the first man, those should also be 
guiltv who are (by descent) at such a distance from 
him, and appear to have taken no part in his sin. 
This contamination seems to us not only impossible, 
but in the highest degree unjust. AVhat is more 
opposed to the principles of our miserable justice, 
than that a child, which is still incapable of willing, 
should be condemned on account of a sin which was 
committed six thousand years before it had a being ? 
Nothing can certainly be more repugnant to us than 
this doctrine. But without this most incomprehen- 
sible of all mysteries, we continue incomprehensible 
to ourselves. In this dark abyss, the knots of our 
being are tied ; and without this mystery, man would 
be much more incomprehensible, than this mystery 
itself is incomprehensible to man." 

" The doctrine of original sin is foolishness to 
man ; and it is regarded as such. It cannot however 
be reproached with being irrational ; for it is not 
asserted that reason can attain it. But this folly is 
wiser than all human wisdom ; for what shall we 
think of man without this doctrine ? It is an inexpli- 
cable point on which his whole constitution depends ; 
and how could it be discovered by reason, since it 
surpasses reason, and since the latter, far from find 

M 



170 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



ing it upon its path, is horrified on its being presented 
to it ?" 

He who has followed the author thus far, will not 
be able to refrain from joining in the following exhor- 
tation to submission, which is the less to be rejected, 
since reason makes use of it with reference to 
itself : 

" Confess, proud man, the impotence of reason, 
and the imbecility of nature ; — know that man infi- 
nitely surpasses the penetration of man, and learn 
from thy Creator the true condition of thy being." 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



171 



LETTER XXXII. 

A few days ago, Theophilus Gaillard entered my 
apartment, and after a friendly salutation said : " It 
becomes increasingly probable to me, the more I 
reflect upon it, that there must be a profound accord- 
ance between the requirements of reason and the 
doctrines of faith ; but when I attempt to elucidate 
this accordance, with reference to single doctrines, I 
do not succeed." 

"You have therefore," observed I, "reflected 
further upon the connection between reason and 
revelation, and made yourself acquainted with the 
view I took of the subject. I have also confirmed 
myself in it, because an individual, who is certainly 
of no less consideration with you than with me, has 
taken up the subject almost in the same light with 
myself. The latter has pointed out the coincidence 
which you seek — at least in reference to one doctrine, 
that of original sin — in a manner which cannot be 
j excelled." I then read the extracts from Pascal to 
him, in the order in which I communicated them to 
you in my last letter. 

" All this," said he, after I had finished, " with 



172 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



the exception of some harsh expressions, is beautiful 
and excellent. But why has Pascal elicited his 
assertion merely with reference to the doctrine of 
original sin — that although it is deficient in reason, 1 
yet its acceptance is enjoined by reason ? Why has 
he not shown it in the same manner with reference 
to the divinity of Christ ? " 

Probably/' said I jocosely, " that we may both 
make the attempt to-day." 

" No," said he, " the gulf between reason and 
revelation is, at this part, too great for me ; I am 
unable to throw a bridge over it." 

" One may however make the attempt," rejoined 
I. " Is not likeness to and fellowship with God the 
supreme object of man according to reason, and is it 
not even recognised as such by many philosophers ? " 

" Whither is this remark intended to lead ? " asked 
he. 

" To this," answered I, " that man who is at a dis- 
tance from God, would probably never have attained 
to fellowship with him, had not God himself met him 
in human form." 

"After so courageous a beginning," said he, f< will 
you not go still further, and likewise show me, how 
the doctrine of the forgiveness of sins by the death 
of Christ accords with reason ? " 

f 'This might probably not be very difficult," re- 



LETTER XXXII. 



173 



joined I. " To me this doctrine appeared only strictly 
rational, from the first moment in which I took it into 
consideration. I pre-suppose, that reason imperatively 
requires, that the highest proof of the mercy of God 
should also be accompanied by the highest proof of 
his justice. Now I should in vain attempt to find 
out something in which the anger of God against sin, 
and his mercy toward the sinner, showed itself in a 
a more striking manner than in the sufferings and 
death of his only-begotten Son, on whom he lays the 
accumulated guilt of man, in order to be able to spare 
the latter.'' 

" You are on the march," said he ; " proceed there- 
fore, and reconcile reason with the doctrine of the 
Trinity." 

" That it is not opposed to it," said I, " is probably 
undeniable. Since reason must be content to remain 
unable to fathom that which is infinite, it must not 
be permitted to reject this doctrine as inadmissible 
with its principles, since in this point it has no prin- 
ciple. Yes, it must receive it, as soon as it receives 
the doctrine of the divinity of Christ, which accord- 
ing to our admissions is not opposed to it ; for how 
could this be possible, without a distinction of persons 
in the Godhead ? and speaking generally, how could 
the Deity enter into a lively intercourse with me, with- 
out the Son and the Spirit. Monotheism, without 



174 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



the Trinity, is no better than fatalism ; this we see in 
the Mahometan religion." 

" My head grows a little giddy/' said he, after a 
pause, " at what yon have now said to me. However, 
you have shewn me a way, and I will try how far I 
can walk in it on my own strength. I must now 
draw your attention to something, which you seem to 
have overlooked, although it is uncommonly in favour 
of the cause you are defending. Besides the path you 
have proposed, there is still another, by which reason 
may attain to an acknowledgment of a Divine revela- 
tion in the Holy Scriptures. The proof to which I 
allude, is indeed the most common and best known 
amongst divines ; but I have never met with any book 
in which it is so profoundly set forth as in this." 

He drew a book out of his pocket, which he put 
into my hands. It was a work on the dogmas of the 
Christian religion, which has for its author one of the 
most eminent divines in Germany, of the name of 
Storr. " Read the book," said he, " and accompany the 
author on the way by which he leads you, although it 
be rather long and tedious. After he has shown the 
authenticity of the books of the New Testament, the 
credibility of their authors, and thereby the truth of 
the gospel history, he finds in the latter, in the per- 
son of Jesus and in his miracles, indubitable signs of 
his Divine mission. From this point of view, and 



LETTER XXXII. 



175 



because Jesus promised it to his disciples, it seems 
also perfectly certain, that the latter became partakers 
of a supernatural illumination, even as the Divine 
inspiration of the Old Testament is guaranteed by 
their expressions, and those of Christ himself. It is 
true, as I have already observed, that this path is cir- 
cuitous and tedious. At every step, and on every asser- 
tion, hindrances and objections are thrown in the way 
by those of other sentiments. However, it seems to 
me, that the replies to these objections are at least as 
forcible as the objections themselves." 

"I thank you," said I, " and will traverse this path, 
however difficult it may be. Love to the subject will 
give me strength to follow the author." 

"To what conclusion, then, have we arrived?" 
said he ; " for at the close of a conversation, or after 
finishing the perusal of a work, we ought always to 
give an account to ourselves of the result, in order 
that we may have our ideas in readiness to put forth 
as good coin. We have made it appear, I think, that 
there are three ways by which faith may be attained, 
— the way of inward experience, which you have trod- 
den — the way of direct insight into the accordance of 
reason with the doctrines of revelation, which vou 
have shewn me — and, finally, the way in which, bv 
historical facts, the Divine authenticity of Scripture is 
established." 



176 CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 

" Agreed/' said I ; " with the limitation, however, 
that we can attain to real faith only on the path, or 
rather the innumerably various paths, of inward expe- 
rience ; for every one is led hy Providence on a par- 
ticular path. But when we have attained to it, we 
shall feel the necessity, both of perceiving the accord- 
ance of faith with the requirements of the other 
powers of the soul, as also of establishing the Divine 
authority of the Holy Scriptures, in an historical man- 
ner, both for our own satisfaction, and for the refu- 
tation of opponents. We will therefore by no means 
think lightly of any thing which may be of service 
to us with reference to this. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



177 



LETTER XXXIII. 

I have recently, and in my latter letters — for my 
letters are always a faithful expression of what passes 
in my mind — been occupied with subjects which did 
not exactly correspond with my state of mind. My 
spirit felt limited and transplanted into a foreign ele- 
ment, whilst reflecting upon the way by which faith 
may be attained, and whilst defining the relative posi- 
tion of reason and revelation. These inquiries must 
indeed be made at one time or other ; but I pity those 
who make them the chief business of their lives, and 
are continually occupied by them. Faith, as long as 
it is reflected upon, is kept at some distance from our 
spirits ; it cannot rally infuse itself into them, nor fill 
them, and bear its fruits. But I burn with desire to 
experience its effects, and those of the Spirit of God 
in my heart ; I long to be enlightened, perfectly tran- 
quillized and comforted, and especially to be sanctified 
by him. When I fix my eyes, thoughts, and efforts 
upon this latter object — an inward witness tells me 
that I am fulfilling that for which I was designed ; I 
then feel, so to speak, comfortable and at home. 

I have found, that in order to approach this desired 



17S 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



aim, and not suffer myself to be drawn away from it 
by the movements of the inward and outward world, 
I must give my inward and outward life stability and 
a firm direction. This appears to me the more neces- 
sai*v, since I am destitute of any sphere of action, 
and am bound by no outward duties ; therefore if I do 
not bind and fetter myself, I shall be in danger of 
being moved and carried away by every wind of hu- 
mour, and even* accidental circumstance. 

The first thing to which I think I must attend, and 
to which, to my great astonishment, so little attention 
is paid — for none of the systems of moralitv or 
religious works with which I am acquainted takes 
sufficient notice of it — is an incessant wandering of 
the mind, which listens to no law of the will. This 
is at least the case with me ; and I believe I may 
regard it as an universal disease of human nature ; 
for it is but too closely connected with our corrupted 
state ; and our separation from the supreme good 
must necessarily result in a restless commotion of all 
our inward powers. However, as I am not waiting a 
book upon the subject, but am only unfolding my 
heart to you, I can speak of this phenomenon merely 
with reference to myself in particular. 

It is the imagination from whence this irregular 
motion proceeds. It has always been very powerful 
in me, not so much in the formation of new imagery. 



LETTER XXXIII 



179 



as in holding fast and recalling that which has once 
passed through my mind. To this also belong, besides 
the images of things which are real, those innumerable 
impressions made upon me by poetical works, which 
I have eagerly read from my childhood up, and all the 
dreams of passion in which I have indulged for so long 
a period. Thus I bear a world about in me ; but such 
a world as obeys no laws, but is like a chaos of fer- 
menting elements. Is it possible ever to know what 
ideas imagination may present to me in any given 
moment, or what other ideas and feelings may connect 
themselves with them ? During my occupations, and 
even when I pray, the intentional train of thought is 
often interrupted by a completely involuntary one. 
It is still worse when my studies, and with them the 
direction of my mind to a certain object, are termi- 
nated for a time. I could be afraid of the moment 
in which I lay aside the pen or the book, in order 
to recreate myself by a walk in the open air, on ac- 
count of the dreadful commotion which immediately 
commences within me. The worst, nay I might almost 
say the most appalling, are the moments after 
awaking, or before going to sleep. The most me- 
lancholy, tormenting, and confusing ideas present 
themselves to the mind, on first coming to itself out 
of the insensibility of sleep ; just as if a hostile force 
were desirous of depriving it, for the whole of the 



ISO 



CONFESSIONS 07 ADALBERT. 



day, of the use of its powers. When my eyes close, 
and the other faculties of the soul, wearied Like the 
body, would be glad to rest with it, imagination does 
not feel the same necessity ; it is then perfectly at 
liberty ; its images follow each other more rapidly, 
and acquire, by the darkness of the night, something 
awe-inspiring and terrific. Now if there be any 
passion or care dwelling in the mind, you may s ap- 
pose that the images of its object break through 

the centre of a peculiar circle of imagery, and that 
from this united force of the affections and imagina- 
tion, the most fearful effects may proceed. A passion 
thus becomes mvincible ; for what avails the resolution 
to forget its object, since imagination continually 
places it before us? We would gladly divest our- 
selves of all anxious solicitude; but are we able to do 
so ; when the circumstances by which it is excited are 
ever present to the mind : We would gladly forgive 
an insult or a mortification, if we were not continually- 
reminded of it against our will. 

It is possible for a man, who has once thought of 
some dreadful deed that he might commit, really to 
commit it, because he is unable to divest himself of 
the idea of it. It is possible for a person in this 
manner to become insane, in consequence of ideas 



LETTER XXXIII. 



ISl 



becoming permanent in him by the force of passion 
and imagination ; or because a mass of such ideas, 
which he is no longer able to distinguish from 
reality, fluctuate in his mind. But though these 
dreadful effects might not ensue, yet it is conceivable 
that amongst these thoughts, there would be many 
which were evil, and amongst this imagery, much that 
was shameful ; and what torment must arise from 
this source to a mind, which sincerely seeks that 
which is good, and sees itself inwardly so profaned 
and polluted against its will. 

It therefore seemed to me supremely necessary to 
simplify my inward life, to divest imagination of its 
luxuriant and dangerous exuberance, and by some 
single, great, and sacred idea to expel its multi- 
farious and reprobate imagery. Of what nature was 
this to be ? I only know of one, which the longer 
it is considered, the more it ravishes ; which is 
possessed of more intrinsic value than all earthlv and 
intellectual things, because, though taken from realitv, 
it is still ideal ; which captivates the affections by the 
union of that which is the most sublime and the most 
diversified ; which is deserving of our love ; and 
which seems destined to purify the mind, and expel 
from it all imagery and every inclination, with the 
exception of a few images that have an afhnitv to it, 
and of a few inclinations connected with the love 
which it imparts. It is the image of Jesus ! Oh I 



182 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



have called upon him to cause it to rise like a serene 
morning sun upon my beclouded and tempest- shaken 
heart ; to enable me always to retain it in my memory, 
and thus to forget the whole world, with its manifold 
phenomena ; and graciously to assume himself the 
sway over my interior, the blinded powers of which 
had combined for my destruction. 

At the same time it became apparent to me, that I 
ought myself to prevent, as much as possible, the 
accumulation of imagery within me, and the roving 
of my feelings to outward things ; and that to this end I 
ought entirely to renounce one of the two amusements 
to which I w T as uncommonly attached — the theatre ; 
and considerably to limit the other — the reading of 
poetical works. Whether it is permitted the Chris- 
tian to visit the theatre or not, is a question I leave 
entirely undecided. But in reference to myself, light 
has been given me respecting it, and I should be acting 
very improperly if I did not follow it. How can I, 
who have had so much to suffer from the volatility of 
my imagination and my mind, and must often feel 
horrified at the forms which present themselves to me, 
— how can I dare, by visiting the theatre, to augment 
the number of these images and impressions ? The 
greater part of them are not entirely pure and 
unexceptionable ; but even the most innocent and the 
purest would conceal or obscure the Divine image, 
which I wish always to behold, and which ought 



LETTER XXXIII. 



183 



always to stand radiant and replete with celestial 
splendour in my mind ; and hence they would be in- 
jurious to me. The case is much the same with poetic 
works, especially when they contain fictitious events, 
Real historical facts always stand connected with the 
Lord, whether they have reference to the extension 
of his kingdom, or as opposed to it ; this may also 
be the predominant feeling in poetry, and then it 
will always be welcome to me. But to stray under 
its guidance, urged on by my curiosity into regions 
which lie entirely remote from the Lord and his 
kingdom, must no longer be expected of me. 

Oh when shall I be so poor, as inwardly to possess 
nothing besides Jesus, and unceasingly think of and 
contemplate him alone ! 

In accordance with these principles, I have pre- 
scribed to myself a regular and fixed plan for my 
inward life during the whole of the day, from morning 
till evening. Immediately after awaking, I seek to 
lay the foundation of the life of Christ, which I intend 
to lead during the day. This foundation can be no 
other than self-knowledge, repentance, and humilia- 
tion. I empty, every morning, the bitter cup of the 
recollection of all my earner and later sins, and yield 
myself up without reserve to the glow of shame, and 
to the violent pain which then pervades me. I sink 
down, ever deeper, till I see myself standing on the 



1S4 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



lowest step ; I then feel firm and secure, and great 
peace and serenity enter into my mind, from whence 
all self-complacent volatility has disappeared. I then 
lift up my eyes to the Lord, as the only helper, who 
can deliver me from my reproach ; as the central 
point of salvation, to which by his grace I am able 
to attain, notwithstanding the greatness of my wretch- 
edness ; and as the example which, notwithstanding 
my reprobate condition, I am able, in some faint degree, 
to imitate. To whom else ought I to direct my eyes 
in such a state of mind, and in such a profound feeling 
of the necessity of aid ? And I have always experienced, 
by so doing, a perfect internal serenity, and have been 
always assured anew, by his spirit, that he would accept 
me, and lead me, by ways known to him alone, to my 
desired aim. 

After spending about an hour, or even a longer 
time, in such meditations, I take up the New Testa- 
ment, which I intend reading from beginning to end 
in the original tongue. How I now rejoice at being 
able to make a holy use of a variety of knowledge I 
formerly acquired ! i do not reject learned investiga- 
tions ; I follow them as long as they contribute in any 
measure to correct my acquaintance with Divine 
things ; but that which has no reference to this, does 
not concern me. 

This reading of the Holy Scriptures is succeeded 



i 



LETTER XXXIII. 



185 



by a variety of occupations in the remaining hours 
of the forenoon and afternoon, which are appointed 
for study, and in which the exercise of my intellectual 
powers is always connected with the superior object 
of edification. 

Refreshment and recreation as much as I require, 
I find in a few social circles to which I have access, 
in which earthly things are spoken of in a religious 
manner and spirit, and subjects of a religious nature 
are treated with cordiality, and at the same time 
without any intermixture of sanctimoniousness. 

The last hours of the evening always find me alone ; 
for the repose of night requires its preparation as well 
as the occupation of the day. I read a few Psalms ; 
I pour out my necessities before the Lord, with the 
anxious cry of the Psalmist, and beseech his com- 
passion ; in the glowing language of the Psalms I 
thank him for the aid he has already granted, and 
will increasingly grant me. This is followed by some 
chapters from a book, which certainly deserves most 
to be read next to the Bible — I mean the " Imitation of 
Christ," by Thomas a Kempis. However I willingly 
lay it aside, when I perceive that my thoughts have 
sufficiently dwelt upon it, so as to be able to elevate 
themselves to heaven alone. At the recollection of 
the various events of my life, I again sink into pro- 
found grief at myself, and into sweet admiration of 

N 



186 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



Divine grace. I continue long upon my knees, in 
order to thank God. that he has not rejected me ; 
that he has permitted me to come to him, and enabled 
me to pass the day, now brought to a close., without 
the commission of any great sin. I entreat him com- 
pletely to dry up and eradicate the poisonous spring, 
from whence so many evil thoughts and lusts rise up 
in me, and not suffer me to fall back into any of the 
transgressions I detest. I remember the deceased, 
with whom I was acquainted here below, and entreat 
him, not to save them, for I hope they are saved already, 
but that he would strengthen them to bear the great 
weight of glory he has in reserve for them. I re- 
member the living, who love me, whom I love, and to 
whom I am indebted for benefits bestowed upon myself 
or those with whom I am connected ; and I commend 
them, both as to spiritual and temporal things, to the 
care and favour of the Lord. By means of his beloved 
image, which I try to keep always present to my view, 
I seek to banish the swarm of images and ideas which 
flutter around the wearied spirit ; and whilst holding it 
fast, defend myself, when the senses sink into repose., 
from all the attacks of darkness which are wont to 
assail me in those moments. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



187 



LETTER XXXIV. 

I have now to inform you of a resolution I have 
taken, which you will probably not have anticipated ; 
and that is, to leave a country in which the Lord has 
guided me so wonderfully, for the purpose of drawing 
me to himself, and return, under his protection, to 
my own land and my native town. 

You have often kindly inquired, in your letters, when 
the moment would arrive that we should see each other 
again : and I have been hitherto unable to give you 
any decisive answer. I am now able to say, that if 
God permit, I will embrace you in the course of a few 
weeks ; for I purpose seeing you before I arrive at my 
native place. 

My life had continued a long time as I have de- 
scribed it to you in my last letter. My time was di- 
vided between prayer and those serious researches 
which stand in connection with the kingdom of God. 
I had little society, and there was no social circle of 
which I had become an indispensable member. All 
at once I became apprehensive, that such a mode of 
spending my life could not be well pleasing to the Lord, 
nor be in accordance with its primary object. In con- 



iS8 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



sequence of my investigations, the form of the kingdom 
of God presented itself before me every day more 
clearly. The Missionary braves the storms of the ocean, 
and amidst a thousand privations and dangers, preaches 
Christ to the nations who sit in darkness and the sha- 
dow of death. The clergy preach the word of God, 
and administer the sacraments ; and when they have 
accomplished these engagements, they have performed 
perhaps the greatest work that has been accomplished 
on the whole earth that day. By the instrumentality 
of the teachers of the young, all the treasures of reli- 
gious and scientific information, which earlier ages had 
acquired, are communicated. They who stand at the 
helm of civil or ecclesiastical affairs, which they regu- 
late by laws, are instrumental in promoting the ho- 
nour of God, so far as they set the Lord before 
them. Nor is there any proper and honest employ- 
ment which does not stand in connection with him 
and his kingdom, as soon as it is performed with refe- 
rence to him. 

Whilst every one is thus active around me, I am 
standing inactive and stationary. I am drawing from 
the spring that is flowing near me, but present no one 
the refreshing draught. All that I acquire is lost in 
myself, and my talent is buried in the earth. After 
a day spent in unceasing prayer, investigation, and 
mental labour, I am compelled to think that the day- 



LETTER XXXIV. 



1S9 



labourer, who, after a short prayer, extinguishes his 
light, and wearied by his exertions sinks into a pro- 
found sleep, has better employed his time than I. 
Dissatisfaction with myself, and a mental uneasiness, 
which no intellectual remedies were successful in re- 
moving, left me the only alternative of fatigue in out- 
ward employment. 

At length, therefore, I came to the resolution of pro- 
curing to myself the feelings of a labourer at the close 
of the day, and of wearying myself, not only inwardly 
but outwardly, in the Lord's service. I am ready, for 
His sake, to renounce the independence so highly es- 
teemed, which I have hitheito enjoyed, and to place 
myself in a situation, in which I can promote his ho- 
nour and his glory, even in the capacity of a subordinate 
member. There will be no want of opportunity for 
this. The State and the Church afford employment 
to many ; and a situation is not easily denied to any 
one of sufficient abilities and moderate pretensions, in 
which he may usefully labour. But even should I be 
rejected, yet opportunities of usefulness would be af- 
forded in those voluntary associations, which are de- 
voted to the removal of so many mental and bodilv 
wants, to which the provision made by the church 
and the state cannot always extend itself. 

For a time I was dubious whether I should commence 
this new mode of life here in Germany, in the place 



190 CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 

where I am at present residing", or in mv native coun- 
try : but 1 soon decided in favour of the latter. We are 
under obligation to devote our powers and faculties to 
the benefit of that nation., into which the hand of the 
Lord has by birth incorporated us. unless express in- 
timations of providence enjoin us the contrary. And 
since my former life has been offensive to my fellow- 
citizens, it is now the more incumbent upon me to show 
them, that bv Divine grace both the heart and the 
life m ay bee nt irely c h an g e d . 

My departure is fixed for this day week. I shall 
leave friends here, who are dear to me ; and amongst 
them none more so than poor, solitary SteindorL 
What important things have I experienced with him 
and bv his means ! Taking leave of him will cause me 
at least very painful feelings, 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



191 



LETTER XXXV. 

\~th of June, 1827. 

From the name of the place from whence I write, 
you will see that I am already on my return, and that 
I have made a considerable approach to the borders 
of my native land. Oh how the air which blows 
upon me from that quarter, awakens in me a sweet 
desire again to behold the place where I first drew my 
breath ; where my childhood was spent ; and where the 
mortal remains of my father and mother were com- 
mitted to the bosom of the earth, there to await their 
resurrection ! 

The inn, and even the apartment I occupy in it, 
are the same which I inhabited for a few days on my 
journey to Germany, and from whence I addressed 
one or more of those letters to you, in which I poured 
out all the sorrows of a mind at that time far from 
God. Heaven be praised, how different now ! To 
day is also the eve of my birth- day ; to-morrow it will 
therefore be a year, since that memorable day, when, 
on opening the Bible, I was for the first time con- 
scious of the powerful drawing of the Father to the 
Son. But to-day is Sunday ; I have attended Divine 



192 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



service, and thanked the Lord in his temple, for the 
abundant blessings of the past year, which he has 
caused me to experience on German ground. Oh may 
his blessing continue to rest upon that country col- 
lectively, and especially on the place where I found 
favour in his sight ! May his blessing be upon those 
who preach there, and upon those who hear ; upon those 
who administer the holy sacraments, and upon those 
who partake of it ; may he be with the hving, and 
hover over the graves of the dead, and pom* himself 
out into the hearts of those who visit them. I entreat 
this blessing in particular in behalf of my dear Stein- 
dorf, who by his last conversation with me, has placed 
the crown upon all the benefits which heaven had 
previously bestowed upon me through him. 

He knew that I was about to depart, and he ap- 
proved of my intention. " You are come to take leave," 
said he, as I entered, looking into my moistened eyes. 
I answered in the affirmative ; tears also forced them- 
selves into his eyes ; and for a while we sat opposite 
each other in silence. 

" How can I depart/' said I at length, interrupting 
this silence, " without expressing the feelings of my 
grateful heart in a greater degree than I have hitherto 
done to you, who through grace have become instru- 
mental to my salvation ! The words which I heard 
from your lips at the corpse of your beloved consort," 



LETTER XXXV. 



193 



(here our eyes involuntarily turned towards the place 
in the room where she had laid,) <f and on that evening 
at her grave, have also brought me several steps 
nearer to that heaven, where you already walk with 
her. My destiny, as you have yourself acknowledged, 
now calls me away from hence, to take my part in 
labouring for the glory of God amongst the connec- 
tions in which I was born ; but it pains and affects me 
deeply, that I must now be deprived of you, of your 
presence, your awakening conversation, and your edi- 
fying example." 

" We shall always continue connected," said he, 
with deep emotion ; " yes, we shall be near each other 
in the Lord, to whom we both belong." 

" I will stedfastly retain his image before the eyes 
of my spirit," rejoined I ; " and with his, yours, as one 
of his true disciples, will be ever present to me." 

" You spoke of the Lord's image," said he, as if he 
had not entirely understood me. 

" Certainly," said I, " I will so habituate my heart 
and imagination to it, that it shall be ever present to 
them, so that it may be to me a consolation in afflic- 
tion, and a defence in temptation." 

M Why," asked he, " would you content yourself 
with his image, since vou may possess him in reality ; 
and why do you seek him for any particular purpose, 



194 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



who ought always to be loved and sought for his own 

sake ? " 

" I do not understand you/' said I. 

" When you love him," replied he, " you will soon 
understand me. Supposing your father and mother 
were still alive, and you could resort to them whenever 
you pleased, would you content yourself, instead of 
doing so, with only contemplating their portraits ; and 
would it be right to do so, even in moments when you 
required comfort and encouragement ?" 

" How shall I apply this simile ?." inquired T ; " I 
could find my parents as long as they were here below, 
but how can I find the Lord ? " 

"And do you still put such a question as this ?" 
asked he with astonishment. " You have found him, and 
have only now the trouble to comprehend the great- 
ness of the gift bestowed upon you. You have more 
than his image ; you possess him himself." 

"Taking it for granted that I have found him," re- 
joined I, " what is further to be done ? for you seem- 
ed to reprove me on some other account." 

cs After having found him," answered he, ' ' you must 
for his own sake, and from pure and disinterested love 
to him, maintain a continual and affectionate intercourse 
with him. He will then be your consolation in suffer- 
ing, and your protection in seasons of temptation. 
But if, instead of love to him, any one of these inten- 



LETTER XXXV. 



195 



tions is predominant in you when applying to him, 
you will receive the expected aid, at least not imme- 
diately, nor in full measure." 

" The inward life of the Christian," said I, after- 
some reflection, " ought therefore, if I rightly under- 
stand you, not to be a contemplation of the image of 
Christ, but a converse with Christ himself? " 

He rose up, paced the room a few times with hasty 
steps, then placed himself before me, and said, " Who 
preserved me from being overwhelmed here, when 
my dear wife drew her last breath ? "Was it the 
Lord's image, or he himself? Who accompanied me, 
when I wandered about here, during the first horrible 
nights after my heavy loss ? Was it the Lord's image, 
or he himself ? Who is now with me, when I am 
quite alone, and strengthens me to bear my solitude ? 
Is it the Lord's image, or he himself?" 

"I cannot refrain," said I, "from honouring your 
profound and pious feelings, and from entering into 
them to a certain extent. I have also read many 
things in good books, which sounded very similar to 
what you have now said. But " — 

" But what ?" asked he, a little excited. 

"But I have resolved, once for all, to be led and 
guided solely by the Scriptures, which are the word 
of God, and to derive from thence the features of the 
model of a Christian life ; and this word of God"— 

"Do you perhaps intend to say," interrupted he, 



196 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



"that they say nothing of such an intercourse with 
Christ ? Has not Christ promised to be with us, even 
till the end of the world : and to be in the midst of 
us when two or three are assembled in his name ; 
And after such promises, shall we consider him as at 
a distance, or as near and present : Has not Christ 
promised that he will come with the Father, and take 
up his abode with those that love him ; and may I not 
speak of holding 1 converse with him, when he has 
spoken of a dwelling' in us. which implies something 
infinitely more, and a connection much more close 
and intimate ? Did not the Apostle hold such a con- 
verse with him, when he besought him to take away 
the thorn in the flesh, under which he was suffering, 
and was immediately enjoined by the Lord to let his 
grace suffice him ? Did he not necessarily hold such 
a converse with him, in order to be able to say, 1 I 
live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me ?' Does he 
not enjoin the maintenance of this fellowship with 
Christ upon those to whom he wrote, when he says, 
"Your life is hid with Christ in God.'' And does 
the beloved disciple, who lay upon the bosom of Jesus, 
not only whilst the latter sojourned here upon earth, 
but also after he had departed hence — does John in- 
tend anything else, when he represents the Lord a? 
knocking at the door, ready, if any one open it, to 
enter in and sup with him ?" 



LETTER XXXV. 



197 



"Yen intend therefore/' rejoined I, f< by this fellow- 
ship with Christ, to maintain within you a sublime 
and continual ecstacy, and to secure a superior degree 
of enlightening i" 

(i Who speaks of ecstacy and enlightening ?" re- 
plied he ; "I do not even allude to any transport of 
feeling. This intercourse with Christ would not be 
what it is — I mean something real — if it were to trans- 
pose my mind from its wonted frame into one which 
was entirely uncommon. It is only the play of the 
imagination that deceives us ; reality always brings 
with it something of a tranquillizing nature, I main- 
tain that those who hold such converse with Christ, 
are perfectly sober-minded individuals, and possess no 
other enlightening, nor pretend to it, than such as 
every Christian may enjoy." 

" But what benefit do you derive," inquired L 
" from your intercourse with Christ ?" 

" You have Christ himself," answered he ; " and 
this is certainly all that you can desire. You possess 
him, and may speak to him in the obscurity of faith, 
even as those speak to him who see him face to face 
in heaven. Often you will feel profoundly grieved, 
when he manifests his nearness to you, and his care 
over you, only by a more severe and immediate chas- 
tisement for the sins you commit ; when he with- 
draws from you the consciousness of this presence — 



198 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



although he never removes far, since you can no 
longer live without it — in order to punish you or put 
you to the test, and thus leaves you only to your own 
wretchedness. But still you possess him, and with 
him are content and satisfied." 

" But these people," said I, "have a name from 
which I shrink." 

" What name is that ?" inquired he. 

"Mystics,"* answered I. 

M In this sense," rejoined he, "the Apostles Paul 
and John, and even Luther himself, were mystics. 
If there is any disgrace in the appellation, we will 
not fear to share it with such men as these. But in 
earlier times, the term had no such opprobrious mean- 
ing. The word mysticism was not then used, but 
' mystic divinity ; the value of which was acknow- 
ledged, and it quietly pursued its course along with 
scholastic divinity. Amongst its admirers are num- 
bered such men as Taulerus, Thomas a Kempis, 
Francis de Sales, and Fenelon, whose names are justly 
honoured by posterity. It pleases people in the pre- 
sent day to indicate by this term, whilst mistaking its 

* This term is much more frequently used in Germany 
than in this country ; being, in many parts, applied to all who 

profess anything more than the outward form of religion. 

JS'ote of the Translator, 



LETTER XXXV. 



199 



former signification, all that is confused and absurd 
that has ever attached itself to religion ; and thus a 
bugbear has arisen, which is employed at one time 
against those to whom it properly applies, and at 
another against such as are falsely so called. " 

" But are there in reality any of the former ? " 
asked I. 

" Certainly/' replied he. 

' And how are they distinguished from the latter 
inquired I further. 

" Those to whom the term mystic is improperly 
applied, seek, in their intercourse with Christ, himself 
alone, and that sanctification which is a necessary con- 
sequence of fellowship with him. Far from favouring 
a revelling in pious feelings, they describe those who 
are always desiring excitement and spiritual refresh- 
ment, as only novices in the career of spiritual life. 
They abhor the pretending to a superior illumination, 
and cleave firmly to the Scriptures as the only stan- 
dard of faith and life." 

" And the real mystics ? " 

(i Are distinguished by this, that they pretend to 
possess a superior knowledge of Divine things than 
Scripture affords ; that they make exceptions for them- 
selves, with reference to the precepts of the Divine 
law, to which all men are subjected ; and that, de- 
spising inward and outward activity, they seek to 



-00 CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 

elevate themselves, by a mere passive feeling, to a 
degree of perfection and blessedness unattainable in 
this life." 

"Let us therefore pass by the term," said I. 
"which is of little importance. The individuals o: 
whom we will now speak, make the essence of the 
Christian life to consist in intercourse with the Sa- 
viour ; but to this I cannot yet agree : for there are 
certainly many good Christians, who are unacquainrea 
with such an intercourse, and do not maintain it ; 
and he vino stands, or supposes he stands, in such a 
fellowship with Christ, must, from his superior station, 
look with contempt upon them.'"' 

"He will never do so..' ; answered he.. " for he weB 
knows that there are various degrees of spiritual life ; 
and he distinguishes those who possess it. not so 
much according to the degree at which they have 
arrived, as the fidelity with which they employ the 
grace granted them. He that does so will arrive at 
the hidden life of Christ in God : and perhaps even 
lead such a life, without being himself clearly con- 
scious of it. He will often possess the thing, and yet 
be terrified at the name which is falsely applied to it. 
when he first hears it : perhaps this is also the case 
with you." 

"Of the inward life," replied I, M I know in rea? 
litv nothing but repentance." 



LETTER XXXV. 



201 



(i You are therefore acquainted/' said he, "with 
what is meant by holding converse with Christ." 

" Is that one and the same thing ? " inquired I. 

" Certainly/' answered he, "for do we not die to 
ourselves in repentance ?" 

" I really think," said I, " that repentance is what 
is properly called spiritual death." 

" It is therefore/' continued he, <f an approach to 
the life of Christ. For Scripture, which in this is 
your only teacher as well as mine, says, ' Ye are dead, 
and your life is hid with Christ in God.' " 

" I am dead," exclaimed I ; " dead by repentance ; 
and yet I feel that I am destitute of this hidden life 
in Christ." 

" One may die frequently," rejoined he, very seri- 
ouslv and significantly. 

11 Explain yourself," said I. 

"I mean," replied he, " that even repentance has 
its various stages : and that we cannot descend to a 
deeper one, without elevating ourselves in a similar 
proportion into the life of Christ." 

" Various stages of repentance ! " repeated I with 
astonishment. " What can I do more than fully ac- 
knowledge and repent of my sins and corruptions ? " 

" No one acknowledges them fully all at once," 
answered he ; " and in the beginning of repentance 
no one would probably be able to bear the sight of 
o 



202 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



himself entirely, such as he really is. But when the 
individual has become somewhat stronger, and the 
Lord sees that he is desirous of making progress, he 
then unfolds to him his inward darkness, and suffers 
him to cast a look into one abyss after the other." 

;i I cannot deny/ 3 rejoined I, f, 'that what you say 
is confirmed by my own inward experience. I re- 
pented supernciallv before I attained to faith ; and 
then more and more deeply, the more I penetrated into 
faith. Can you also distinguish several stages of re- 
pentance in vour life : " 

i( Certainly/ 3 replied he. " The lowest to which 
J have attained, was that to which I was precipitated 
by the last stroke which has befallen me. My whole 
soul was filled with the idea of my sin and miser}-, 
and the decrease of my own life — the life of self — 
was the increase of life in Christ. But how much is 
still wanting, before I am able to say with the Apos- 
tle, 1 Now I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me ! ! 
Self still exists in me, which is desirous of referring 
every thing to itself rather than to the Lord. Until 
this is taken away, I shall not entirely possess Christ.'*'" 

" Let him cast me/ 5 exclaimed I with enthusiasm, 
'•'from one abyss of repentance, from one horrible 
feeling of the knowledge of myself, into another : let 
him take every thing from me, if he only gives me 
himself/ 3 



LETTER XXXV 



203 



" He will do it/' said Steindorf with emotion, "if 
you always show him this readiness. But you must 
know, that the second repentance is more difficult 
than the first, and the third than the second ; for each 
of them seems to be the last ; each one may nourish 
the self-complacency which resists the descending a 
step lower." 

"May the Lord," said I, "remove this self-decep- 
tion from me, and graciously enable me to resign 
myself in simplicity to his guidance V s 

" This is also my prayer," said he. " On the 
whole, the utmost we are able to do, is to yield our- 
selves up to his guidance." 

We had risen up, holding each other by the hand, 
and he continued feelingly and solemnly as follows : 
" May the Lord accompany you back to vour native 
country, and cause, from what you have here expe- 
rienced, very blessed effects to result, both to your- 
self and others ! May the Lord abide with you, and 
cause his light to shine into the darkness which 
envelopes me ! Here before his face we conclude 
our bond of Christian friendship, and hope that 
nothing will ever sever it, because it is formed in him. 
"We both give ourselves anew to the Lord, entirely 
and without reserve, for a possession ; that he may do 
with us as seemeth him good ; that he may conduct 
us ever deeper into his death, by which we must die 



204 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT.. 



to the world, in order to attain to Ms kingdom and 
himself. There we shall meet again, should we see 
each other no more here below : there he will gather 
together all his people, whom death or distance had 
separated.'"' 

I wept in his arms, and he wept with me. On 
reaching my lodgings. I threw myself on my knees, 
and repeated the vow, to belong to no one but the 

Lord. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



205 



LETTER XXXVI. 

I cannot yet prevail upon myself to leave Germany, 
and am at present detained in a little parsonage, be- 
longing to a small village in one of its southernmost 
provinces. 

I was soon overtaken, on my slow return, by a 
letter from Steindorf, in which he rendered it in 
some measure incumbent upon me to visit the Rev. 
Mr. Strahl, whose residence he mentioned to me. 
l ' I know him," said he, "through the medium of a 
correspondence, which he has carried on with me for 
some time ; and am convinced, that even a short 
intercourse with him may be very salutary to you/' 

I gladly followed these directions. I travelled a 
whole day's journey from the high road ; passed the 
night in a little town, where I left my carriage ; and 
the following morning proceeded further with a guide. 
I had still many tedious miles to walk. Towards 
noon I reached the little village, which contains a few 
hundred Protestant inhabitants, and is environed on 
all sides by a Catholic population. 

There was something peculiar and friendly in its 
appearance. Entirely surrounded by hedges, above 



206 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



which lofty fruit trees reared their heads, it presented 
a mass of verdure, which covered the "black roofs of 
the houses. My way led me past the church-yard, 
which was surrounded by a low wall ; and I lingered 
a moment in order to consider the church. It is 
small, old, of Gothic architecture, and seems to have 
been formerly a Catholic chapel. It is surrounded 
by bushes and trees, the lime and the elder, which, 
with their waving shadows, circle the graves of the 
dead. I proceeded further, and reached a more open 
space, on which the parsonage is situate. The still- 
ness that prevailed, seemed to render it dubious 
whether the house was inhabited, or whether its 
inmates were all of them numbered with the dead. 
I knocked, and was informed by an aged servant, that 
I should find the clergyman in the garden, which 
immediately adjoined the house. A man of about 
sixty years of age soon came towards me, under the 
lofrr trees, whose luxuriant foliage only occasionally 
permitted the ardent rays of the mid- day sun to shine 
through them. His form was slender, his gait noble , 
although inclining a little forwards, as is generally 
the case with those who suffer in the chest. His 
head was only scantily covered with grey locks. His 
features expressed benevolence, refined feeling, and 
superior intellectual capacity. His dress was not 



LETTER XXXVI. 



207 



neglected, as is frequently the case with a solitary, 
but bore the appearance of careful attention. — I 
presented to him the introductory letter which Stein - 
dorf had sent me ; he read it, and whilst folding it to- 
gether again, and putting it into his pocket, he said, 
"It is very kind of Mr. Steindorf to afford me the 
pleasure of becoming acquainted with you. Be assured 
you are heartily welcome, particularly since I see from 
the letter that in you I am receiving a believing Chris- 
tian. But you have need of repose/' continued he, 
e( and refreshment. My house, in which I dwell alone 
and without a family, can only offer you inferior en- 
tertainment ; however I hope you will remain with me 
at least until to-morrow. 5 ' 

He now conducted me to a place in the middle of 
the garden, where a table and some wooden rustic 
seats were erected under two aged and thickly inter- 
woven elm trees, which extended their branches far 
around. An open and beautiful prospect here 
presented itself from the side opposite the house 
and the village. The garden there formed an emi- 
nence, at the declivity of which a stream flowed past, 
occasionally carrying upon its bosom a few sailing 
boats. Beyond the river, the country gradually be- 
comes elevated, until in the distance the hills ascend to 
a considerable height. The whole of this slope is 
covered with cornfields, forests, villages and towns 



20S 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



whose turrets soar above the foliage which surrounds 
them . 

We took our dinner in the cool shade of these elms , 
whilst enjoying the heart- cheering prospect. I can- 
not exactly affirm that Mr. Strahl laboured to turn the 
conversation exclusively to spiritual subjects ; he let it- 
proceed in its natural course: and was able, at every 
turn, to introduce something that was novel and im- 
portant. He seems to me to be a man of no mean 
acquirements, and still greater experience, who is not 
unacquainted with the persons and subjects which have 
attained consideration both in Germany and in other 
countries. This may be accounted for from the circum- 
stance, that before he retired to this village, he occu- 
pied; for several years together, a ministerial office in 
the metropolis. 

The evening approached before we were aware, 
whilst engaged in conversation ; which had been 
earned on in the afternoon. 'as well as during dinner. 
Strahl conducted me into the apartment prepared for 
me. Whilst wishing that I might pass a tranquil night 
under his roof, his language unconstrainedly became a 
prayer, in which he commended me, both soul and 
bodv, to the Lord's gracious protection. Wearied in 
body, with a tranquil heart, and surrounded by a noise- 
lessness which can only prevail at night in a village, I 
soon closed my eyes,, and did not open them until the 



LETTER XXXVI. 



209 



sun was high in the heavens. After I had dressed my- 
self, Strahl entered my room, and said, " You must not 
leave me to-day ; for we have hitherto scarcely touched 
upon the subject which is of the greatest importance 
to us both." I accepted the invitation to remain ; 
which being every day renewed, I have already spent 
a week in the hospitable house of this dear friend, whom 
the Lord has presented to me. In my next letter, I 
will give you an account of the substance of our con- 
versations, by which my views have in many respects 
been enlarged, 



210 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



LETTER XXXVII. 

I have conversed with Mr. Strahl on the tendency 
of the past and the present, in a religious and theolo- 
gical point of view, and am of opinion with him, that 
the historical, philosophical, and spiritual, have been, 
and still are, the predominant features. All three may 
be traced back to the primary elements of human na- 
ture. 

There are a great number of individuals who attach 
much greater value to that which is real, than to that 
which exists only in the world of ideas ; and who, on 
that very account, act, in their connection with others, 
in a very affectionate and animated manner ; these 
individuals are usually said to be of an active and so- 
cial disposition. When such persons are awakened to 
believe the Gospel, they are more capable than others 
of feeling the necessity of the historical basis of faith. 
The events of sacred history present themselves in a 
lively manner to their view, and are not without influ- 
ence upon their hearts. The occurrences also which 
have principally operated towards the formation of the 
Christian church, are important in their estimation ; 
they gladly seek to become acquainted with them ; 



LETTER XXXVII. 



211 



and Divine truth is apprehended by them, in pre- 
ference, under that form in which the church 
has represented it in its confession of faith. 
This disposition, though otherwise so laudable in 
itself, would justly expose itself to censure, were it to 
reject all the other requirements of the heart and mind, 
and to endeavour to establish itself at their expense. 
Such was the case in the Romish church, w T hilst striv- 
ing to unite the Christian world by forcible means, so 
as to form one whole. Even in the Protestant church 
it has sometimes degenerated into an obstinate adhe- 
rence to human formulas, and into hierarchical pride ; 
but in general it there exhibits itself in a nobler form, 
and manifests itself by more salutary effects. It 
forms — connected at one time with learning, and at 
another with the gift of eloquence — two particularly 
estimable classes amongst Protestant divines. The 
one, by their comprehensive acquirements, are ena- 
bled to defend that which is supremely dear to them — 
the historical facts of Divine revelation — against the 
attacks of infidelity. The other edify the people by 
their eloquent discourses : for whilst bringing before 
them the events of sacred history in all their impor- 
tance — founding their instruction upon them, and 
placing in connection with them the minutely denned 
relative position of mankind, — they never fail to excite 
the most livelv interest in the minds of their hearers. 



212 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



and gain over many to the faith. The church, as an 
outward social institution, will ever be of the greatest 
importance to all those who cherish these sentiments, 
whether clergy or laity, because it satisfies the desire, 
so ardently felt by them, to unite with others of similar 
sentiments in their most important concerns. It 
happens however, occasionally, that such individuals 
feel repelled by the defects of the outward church, 
and suffer themselves to be deceived by their own pride ; 
or let themselves be too strongly attracted by the 
distinguished talents of some individual teacher. Their 
social impulse then frequently occasions a separation 
from church fellowship, for the purpose of establishing 
closer religious connections. In the latter case, the 
belief which had emanated from a more extended 
source, is often faithfully preserved by reciprocal 
incitement. But their members not unfrequently 
become so hardened in their sectarianism, that they 
recognise truth only under the impress of their tra- 
ditionary mode of expression ; and harshly and un- 
charitably reject and condemn other believers, because 
they do not perceive this phraseology in the expres- 
sions of the latter. 

Like the historical tendency, the philosophical is 
also founded in human nature ; namely, in the ne- 
cessity which is felt to arrange the Divine truths which 
are offered to us, and to perceive their necessity ac^ 



LETTER XXXVII. 



213 



cording to the laws of trie reflectiDg mind. It is in 
vain and unjust to reject this requirement as inadmis- 
sible, which has been sometimes done on an historical 
footing ; but it is also, alas ! no less true, that, in the 
endeavour to treat the doctrines of faith philosophi- 
cally, faith itself has often disappeared. Sometimes 
the facts of sacred history have been dealt with in a 
hostile manner ; they have been declared to be un- 
true ; ideas have been put in the place of contempla- 
tion ; and the sum and substance of religion has been 
set aside in a manner intolerable to the spirit of a true 
philosophy. Or else these facts have been presump- 
tuously passed over, and the proof to be drawn from 
them, in favour of the truth of the Divine doctrine, has 
been scorned, solely for the purpose of estabhshing that 
which the doctrine ought to contain in itself. Though 
this may be partially granted, yet it can never be de- 
nied, that the annunciation of individual, definite 
Divine decrees, which forms the substance of those 
doctrines which are precisely the chief in the Christian 
religion, needs authenticating by facts. In such a 
mode of treating religious doctrines, the safest way 
has not been taken. The commencement ought to be 
made from some point within the given sphere 
of Divine revelation ; one of its doctrines ought to be 
placed at the head, and from thence the rest ought to 
be endeavoured to be developed. Human nature 



214 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



ought to be more minutely investigated, in order to 
show, that in its irrejectionable requirements, which 
can only be satisfied by means of these doctrines, and 
that in its object, which can only be attained by their 
means, the necessity of these doctrines is founded. 
Human nature would then, according to Lord Bacon's 
ingenious simile, be the lock, and Divine revelation 
the key : from a minute comparison of both, the result 
would be, that as the key is made for the lock, so 
revelation is made and destined for human nature ; 
and that the one cannot be thought of without the 
other. Instead of this, however, the leading principle, 
according to which the doctrines of faith ought to be 
treated, is usually borrowed from some existing philo- 
sophical system : but such a system, being the work 
of man, is partial and limited and the doctrines of 
faith can never be forced into it, without suffering 
disfigurement and mutilation. 

There is still another religious and theological ten- 
dency, which existed in former times much more ex- 
tensively than at present, and which is properly 
termed the spiritual tendency. This is also founded 
upon the basis of human nature ; for our spirits 
cannot be denied the ability of knowing truth, not 
only by discursive reflection, but also by immediate 
contemplation, and of loving the truth thus contem- 
plated. Now, he who seeks to retain incessantly 



LETTER XXXVII. 



215 



before the eyes of his mind the Divine truth which 
has appeared in Christ, by means of this faculty of 
superior contemplation, and to receive a continual 
impression from it — such a one lives in the spirit. 
This is not unfrequently experienced by all believing 
Christians ; but those moments, especially, in which 
they have decided in favour of faith, will have been 
moments of mystic contemplation ; for their experience 
will convince them that at such seasons they received 
such a heart and spirit-penetrating certainty of Divine 
truth, as cannot be obtained by gradual and progres- 
sive reflection, but only by immediate enlightening, 
However, there are only a few Christians who pursue 
this spiritual direction in preference to the historical 
and philosophical ; and it is also unnecessary that their 
number should considerably increase ; since the his- 
torical presents equal security for the salvation of the 
soul, though the former may have the advantage in 
promoting its sanctmcation. It is only to be wished 
that every one would suffer himself to be led by the 
Divine hand whithersoever it pleases, and as far as it 
finds good. 

Whilst in the historical bias the attachment to 
social life predominates, and people congregate toge- 
ther in larger or smaller associations, in spiritual 
dispositions there is often a preponderating inclination 
to solitude ; and impelled by this, they gladly live 



216 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



alone, and go about as if they were in a desert. 
They seek not men but God, whose presence they 
believe they feel more sensibly, and hear his voice 
more clearly, when peace and silence reigns in and 
around them. Thus, though they deprive themselves 
of that awakening feeling, which the pious Christian 
finds in intercourse with other pious people — vet if 
they are able perseveringly to continue their inter- 
course with the Lord, by contemplation, love, and 
prayer, they derive a great and pecuhar blessing from 
it. This does not consist so much in high enthusias- 
tic feelings, as in a tranquil, operative, incessantly 
emanating spiritual power, which diffuses itself within, 
and retains their mental powers and faculties in an 
unchanging freshness and bloom : so that it may be 
said of them, more than of others, that they have 
drunk of the fountain of eternal youth, or rather of the 
f; weli of water, which springeth up into everlasting 
life." 

They certainly require to exercise extreme solici- 
tude, lest their inclination for sohtude should degene- 
rate into slothfulness, and a neglect of their social 
duties ; and lest self- formed thoughts and ideas in the 
state of contemplation should be regarded by them as 
Divine truth. Many noble-minded individuals have 
fallen into this dangerous bye -path : and it can only 
be avoided by never entirely and exclusively pursuing 



LETTER XXXVII. 



217 



the spiritual direction, but frequently reverting to the 
historical and philosophical point of view, in order to 
try that which is wont to occupy the faculty of con- 
templation, by the standard of the Divine word and 
the laws of rational reflection. 

A peaceful disposition towards others is usually 
connected with the tendency to a life in the Spirit, of 
which the historical is deficient. By the latter, those 
who do not belong to the church, nor to the smaller 
associations formed within it, are often treated in a 
very repulsive and hostile manner ; even the philo- 
sophical divines, particularly if they incline to infide- 
lity, do not always manifest that tolerance towards 
others which they claim for themselves. Those who 
follow the spiritual direction, have seldom given cause 
for such a reproach ; and generally speaking, in their 
efforts, which are directed more to that which is 
within than to anything of an external nature, they 
show little desire for theological controversy ; they are 
often more indifferent than is commendable, where 
they meet with the same essential contemplations and 
feelings. Although they are on terms of amity with 
those who follow the historical direction, yet they do 
not usually participate with them in the disinclination 
which the latter cherish towards the philosophical ; on 
the contrary, they gladly avail themselves of whatevei 
of an useful nature Philosophy offers them, and are 



218 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



therefore fitted to act as mediators between the latter 
and the orthodox sticklers for the church. 

But the greatest advantage of the spiritual bias lies 
in the powerful and inevitable influence which it exer- 
cises in exiting and promoting Christian piety. In 
this respect, the philosophical can be of little service in 
its scholastic refinement of ideas. The historical, in 
which, by the contemplation of the most sublime facts, 
the heart must necessarily be affected and filled with 
the most sacred feelings, is capable of more. But 
the influence of the spiritual bias is the most power- 
ful with reference to this, because those sublime ob- 
jects are to it not as something past, but something 
present, which it seeks to retain in constant contem- 
plation. In this state, the supreme command, to love 
God above every other object, may be the most easily 
fulfilled ; for when we behold him we love him, and 
when we love him we desire to behold him. We 
here also feel ourselves the most powerfully incited to 
pray — for prayer is the outpouring of love to God, 
even as confidential discourse is the effusion of human 
affection. Where there is a constant contemplation 
of God, and an unalterable love to him, prayer will 
flow forth in a similar proportion. 

Considering the great advantages which are to be 
met with upon this path, it would, probably, be more 
frequently resorted to, if a mighty hindrance, which 



LETTER XXXVII. 



219 



is difficult to be overcome, did not restrain many, -who 
were otherwise fitted for it. For in order to feel 
attracted by God and Divine things, in such a manner 
as to immerse ourselves, and live in the contemplation 
of them, we must have divested ourselves, in an un- 
common manner, from the desire for what are termed 
innocent amusements. In order to put on that which 
is heavenly, earth must have lost its attractive power ; 
the balloon, though inflated, does not ascend into the 
air, until the ropes which hold it are severed. Such 
an attachment to earthly things, as is still often met 
with in wise and pious individuals, obscures, in this 
instance, the sight of heaven, and like a heavy weight, 
draws down the ascending spirit. In order that the 
latter may not be restrained in its flight, even attention 
to earthly things must be confined within the limits 
of that which duty imperatively enjoins, An excep- 
tion to this rule can only be made in the case of a few 
extremely highly talented individuals. But by means 
of such an unconsciousness of outward things, an ap- 
pearance of abstraction results, which renders persons 
ridiculous, especially those who are obliged to move 
in the higher circles, and which scarcely any one is 
able to bear. The propensity to a contemplative life 
is therefore only very seldom cultivated, because the 
necessary intercourse with mankind raises too many 
obstructions to it, and because a complete withdraw- 



220 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



merit into solitude is either not possible, or not even 
admissible. 

My dear friend Strain has. however, endeavoured 
to make it possible. From a more extensive field of 
labour he has withdrawn into this rural solitude, to 
which step, bodily indisposition may have also had 
some weight in deciding him. The duties of his 
office — such as preaching, instructing the voung, and 
visiting the sick — are indefatigably fulfilled by him, 
though they cost him the greatest effort, in conse- 
quence of a weakness in the chest; he also devotes 
several hours every day to me. It is singular to near 
him speak of the things of the world; he regards 
them as it were with a bird's-eye view — so far does 
he soar above them, and so diminutive do they appear 
to him ; or rather he considers them with a heavenly 
indifference, in such a manner as a departed spirit 
may be supposed to regard and speak of them. He 
feels the want of nothing so much as of an entire and 
undisturbed solitude. Frequently it happens, that 
Luring conversation, uneasiness seizes him, he becomes 
thoughtful, monosyllabic, and retires into his chamber. 
On his re -appearance, he is more than commonly 
friendly, animated, and cheerful ; and his whole being 
seems bedewed with a gracious influence, such as can 
only be obtained through prayer. 

What is it detains me here so lonsr ? Besides the 



LETTER XXXVII. 



221 



friendship which I feel for Strahl, and which. I have 
communicated to him, it is the wish to learn some- 
thing more particular and complete respecting the 
mystic direction ; for it is sufficiently evident that he 
has entirely devoted himself to it. Those who are 
become proficients in the contemplative life, and 
in Divine love, are his dearest friends, and their 
writings constitute a great part of his library. Besides 
those which Steindorf mentioned to me, I have here 
become acquainted with many others ; I have also 
read several of then* works ; but they did not altoge- 
ther satisfy me. Even Strahl assures me, that he 
by no means approves of them all ; and that, generally 
speaking, he most decidedly condemns the inclination 
to regard human imaginations as Divine revelations. 
But that which he cannot refrain from valuing in 
them extremely, is the sincere and heroic will which 
beams forth from their life and writings, entirely to 
die to the world, and to live to Christ. That this 
constitutes the perfection of faith and a Christian life, 
who can deny ? But he that attempts it — and I 
have been doing so for some time — will also confess 
that it is difficult, very difficult ! 

Postscript. — I cannot refrain from sending you 
a poem, which has been composed in this rural soli- 
tude. Not as if I attributed any great value to the 
thing itself; but I rejoice in having been able to pro- 



222 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



duce it. Composition is no easy work ; it requires a 
power of which I was deficient during my departure 
from God, and which seems now to have awoke in me, 
since I have returned to him. You are acquainted 
with Petrarch, whom Strahl also knows and loves ; 
1 have therefore no need to tell you, what has been 
imitated from him, and what belongs to myself. The 
form is partially imitated* — the substance entirely 
my own. I express what I have experienced, seen, 
and what I hope and converse upon not unfrequently 
with God. Poesy ought not to concern itself about 
anything else. 

THE WAY TO HEAVEN. 

Near a window I stood, at the dawning of day, 
And saw, whilst regarding the dense fog that lav- 
All around on the ground, many a vision flit past ; 
Some with pleasure I viewed, and at some stood aghast. 

The first that presented itself to my sight, 
Was a garden whose aspect the eye did delight, 
In which I beheld a rosy-faced child, 
Who, happy and joyful, in innocence smil'd. 
The breath of the morning play'd on his fair cheek, 
And gamboll'd amongst his ringlets so sleek. 
When lo ! the church bells pealed solemnly near. 
Whilst anthems devout fell soft on the ear, 
And the child knelt down on the grass for prayer. 



* But has necessarily disappeared in the translation, in 
order to retain more faithfully the ideas of the Author. — Note 
of the Translator, 



LETTER XXXVII. 



223 



Instead of the child, a youth was now seen, 

With a nymph on each side of opposite mien, 

Proceeding across the flowery plain ; 

The one on the left slily sought him to gain, 

And held up a mirror, in which he might view 

The pleasures of earth in colours untrue. 

The other, whose hands a crucifix bore, 

And stars on her head, for a coronet wore, 

Gravely and mildly enjoined him to turn 

To the glorious light which in heaven did burn ; 

But in vain ; for he seemed her counsel to spurn. 

But now I beheld how thick darkness arose 

From a horrible pit, which a fire did disclose. 

The youth soon appeared, and with eagerness strove 

To grasp at a form which hovered above ; 

In which I soon recognized her to the left ; 

And as he turn'd towards the horrible cleft, 

As though of his senses by madness bereft, 

And his feet swept the brink of the dreadful abyss, 

The other fair form, from the regions of bliss, 

Was at hand to preserve him from dangers so dire, 

And from falling a prey to the unquenchable fire. 

The cross of the Lord then erected I saw 
On a desolate waste where nothing did grow, 
And nature appeared to mourn all around ; 
But the youth, immersed in sorrow profound, 
With tears often kissed the Saviour's feet, 
And mercy and pardon did sorely entreat. 
The Lord then freeing his arms from the wood, 
Extended them o'er him, whilst dropped the blood 
On the forehead and cheek of the youth as he stood ; 
Who to newness of life was thus consecrated, 
And his powers to the service of Christ dedicated. 



224 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



When lo ! on a sudden came rushing along 
An army infernal, both numerous and strong, 
Intent to inflict on the youth some great harm. 
Who howe'er for the contest did rapidly arm. 
With helmet and shield, and a sword in his hand. • 
He valiantly strove the foe to withstand. 
The battle was fearful, and heavy the blows 
He had to endure from his merciless foes. 
But he who equipped him so well for the fight 
Did also endue him with superior might : 
And all the foul fiends were put to the flight. 

And when it had ended, the evening was come, 

In which the tired labourer longs for his home. 

Then helmet and cuirass were both laid aside, 

And earth in her lap a cool couch did provide, 

On which he peacefully took his repose ; 

Whilst his slumbers to guard from disturbance and foes, 

An odorous curtain was over him thrown 

Of leaves and of flowers, both budding and blown, 

And the moon, from her sphere, look'd mournfully down 

But see ! the vision, which first rose to view, 
Returns, and the garden comes forward anew, 
Though glittering now celestially bright. 
Surrounded by the fair morning light, 
A blessed one stands there in glorious array, 
A diadem wearing, bright as the day. 
Whilst thousands of voices combine to sing, 
And heaven's high choirs their tribute bring 
Of praise unto him who death overcame — 
The blessed one, kneeling, in action the same, 
At the last as at first, gives thanks to his name. 

Now go, O song ! and let each reader say, 
If this to heaven be not the proper way ? 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



225 



LETTER XXXVIII. 

The Divine Hand which guides me has once 
more deeply reached my heart, by events which have 
shaken me to the very centre. By what has now 
occurred before my eyes, it has put the seal upon all 
that I have experienced during my residence in Ger- 
many. When I entered this quiet village, I was far 
from anticipating what I should here live to see. In 
order, however, to retain everv particular in my 
memory, I immediately wrote it down at full length, 
and feel impelled to communicate at least extracts of 
it to you. 

On the morning of the 20th of July, I had entered 
the room, where we were accustomed to breakfast 
together, at the usual time. Not meeting with my 
friend there, and as he did not appear after I had long 
waited for him, I felt uneasy, and went to his door, 
which I carefully opened. He sat at his table, writing 
diligently. On hearing me enter, he looked 
around, nodded at me in a friendly manner, and said, 
" God bless you, my friend ! step in, and excuse me 
only for a moment longer." He continued writing, 
then rose up, presented me with a slip of paper, and 



226 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



said, " Do you wish to know what I have been writ- 
ing ? There, read it ! " I read the following lines : — 

Upon these waters I have floated, long, 
Assail'd by tempests and by currents strong ; 
Now to the port of rest at length I steer, 
And gladly see the end of my career. 

The evening's glow has vanished from the sky, 
And the cool winds begin to murmur nigh. 
No more shall I fulfil my duties here, 
But be admitted to a higher sphere. 

Swan -like, in my last hour I'll sing, 
And to His name my humble tribute bring, 
From whom my soul its endless life receives, 
In whom my heart so stedfastly believes. 

Then shall I soar to brighter worlds on high, 
Where saints and angels ' Holy ! holy ! ' cry ; 
And lost in love and wonder humbly bow 
Before His throne, who stooped for me so low. 

Through endless years I'll gaze upon his face, 
And sink entranced in his Divine embrace ; 
Imbibing life from him, until I be 
Th' abode and likeness of the Deity. 

I gave him back the paper, and said, whilst regarding 
him with a look of astonishment, " You are a poet ! " 

" Not exactly so," replied he ; " but we are the 
subjects of poetical feelings in age as well as in 
youth." 

" And is what you here express," continued I, " a 
presentiment, a foreboding ? " 



LETTER XXXVIII. 



227 



" I would not say that," answered he ; " but ought 
not an aged man, who is at the same time an invalid, 
and who has a desire to depart, and to be with Christ, 
which is far better, to prepare himself for it every 
day ? I certainly feel ill to-day. I shall therefore 
continue some time longer in my room ; at noon, if 
it be the will of God, we shall see each other again." 

On this, he reached me his hand with a friendly 
look. I left him, and spent the hours till noon in my 
apartment, in solitary occupation. The air was sultry 
and oppressive, and induced the expectation that it 
would not pass over without a storm. 

When Strahl appeared at the dinner-table, he 
seemed deeply affected, though free from pain. He 
implored a benediction upon our meal, and thanked 
God for his temporal and spiritual blessings with deep 
emotion. Each of us felt a degree of abstraction, and 
our conversation was more than once interrupted by 
long pauses. 

Dinner was just over, when we perceived that the 
room suddenly became dark. We approached the 
window, and saw a dreadful black thunder- cloud im- 
mediately above our heads. Like a powerful armv, 
which after concentrating itself into a small space 
suddenly shews its weapons, extends itself on all sides., 
covers the spacious field of battle, and thunders forth 
its heavy ordnance ; so the cloud had spread itself in 



22S 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



a moment over the whole sky ; flash followed upon 
flash, and the thunder roared simultaneously with the 
lightning', no longer in separate intonations but 
forming- one continued roll. The rain fell in torrents, 
and overflowed the little garden before the house, in 
which only the flowers and the tips of the grass ap- 
peared above the water. A flash of lightning more 
vivid than the rest, accompanied by a tremendous 
clap of thunder, darted down into the earth at a short 
distance from us. Carried away by our feelings,, we 
exclaimed to each other, with an animation which 
beamed forth from Strain" s eyes, and communicated 
itself to me, " Thou makest clouds thy chariot ; thou 
fiiest on the wings of the wind. " " Who makest winds 
thy messengers, and names of fire thy servants." 
" He bowed the heavens, and came down, and 
darkness was under his feet. He rode upon a cherub 
and did fly, yea he did fly on the wings of the wind.*'" 

At the brightness that was before him. the thick 
clouds divided, with hailstones and flashes of light- 
ning.'"' <; Oh for a chariot and horses of fire,'" ex- 
claimed Strahl, " and then to ascend in a tempest 
to heaven ! " H But your mantle," exclaimed I, 
" you must leave to me." 

The storm had passed over : the rain had ceased. 
We opened the windows, and suttered the cooled air 
to flow in. But this did not satisfv us : we wished 



LETTER XXXVIII. 



229 



to breathe it out of the house. We proceeded with- 
out difficulty from the parsonage towards the church, 
because trie rain had already run off from those places, 
which lay a little elevated. The inhabitants of the 
village stood at the doors of their houses, and the 
children were already playing in the street. On 
arriving at the churchyard, we saw two men through 
the door, which was standing open, who had just begun 
to dig a grave to the left near the wall, under the 
elder bushes. This circumstance seemed to strike 
Strain ; he went towards them, and inquired for whom 
thev were digging the grave ? 

The men stuck their spades into the ground, and said, 
looking up at him, after a friendly salutation, " For 
Dorothy, to whom Anthony was to have been mar- 
ried, and who is to be buried to-morrow. " 

f£ But who has pointed out this place to you ? " con- 
tinued he ; "I have fixed upon it for my own grave." 

" Your reverence must ask the sexton/' replied the 
men, " for it was he who pointed it out to us." 

The sexton was called. " How can you permit a 
grave to be made here ? " said Strahl to him j " have I 
not often told you, that I wish to be buried on this 
spot ! " 

" Has your Reverence really said so ? " answered the 
sexton, " my memory is weak, I have no particular 
recollection of it. But why does your Reverence 



230 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



wish to be buried under the elder bushes ? You 
would rest in a much more stately manner under the 
great linden tree. Besides, elder is a worthless sort 
of a bush, it ought to be rooted up. 

Strahl could not forbear smiling at the visible em- 
barrassment of the man. 

Meanwhile Anthony entered the church-yard. 
Strahl went to meet him, took him by the hand, and 
said, " Was it your wish, Anthony, that your dear 
Dorothy should be buried under the elder ? " 

"Yes, it is my w T ish," replied Anthony; " and the 
sexton, to whom I applied respecting it, after some 
hesitation agreed to it." 

" Do you attach any particular value to this place ? " 
asked Strahl. 

"Certainly, sir," replied Anthony ; "for it was 
here that Dorothy gave me her consent. It was on 
a Sunday morning ; and w T e had both been to church. 
You had preached very beautifully on the great love 
which the Lord bears towards us, his nearness to us, 
and how willing he is to guide and direct us, both in 
great things and small, if we only call upon him to do 
so. I then thought to myself, ' I have long felt a cor- 
dial affection for Dorothy, and would gladly take her 
to be my wife ; I will therefore commit the matter to the 
Lord, and watch w T hether he gives me any intimation 
to do so. I then prayed veiy fervently to the Lord, and 



LETTER XXXVIII. 



231 



after I had finished, my heart became so tranquil, that 
the whole affair seemed to me already settled. When 
I left the church* the congregation had already dis- 
persed, with the exception of Dorothy, who was stand- 
ing under the elder-tree, which was just then in flower : 
she was plucking a few bunches of it, when I ap- 
proached her, and said, " Dorothy, I love you sincerely, 
and wish that you would become my wife. I have 
prayed to the Lord in • the church, and I now feel so 
comfortable, that I cannot but think that it is His will. 
I therefore now ask you, if you are also willing ? She 
let go the elder branch which she had hitherto held in 
her right hand, put it into mine, and kindly nodded 
assent. We then went to our parents, and received 
their blessing." 

This tale was told by the young man with many 
tears, during which he frequently wiped his eyes with 
a red silk handkerchief — probably a present from his 
betrothed — in a corner of which a faded nosegay was 
tied. Strahl and I wept with him, and even the grave- 
diggers seemed affected. 

" Dear Anthony," said Strahl, after a considerable 
pause, " I would gladly concede this place to you which 
I have destined for myself. But you certainly wish 
to be at length interred near your Dorothy, and you see 
that is impossible here ; because there are graves on 



232 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



each side, between which there is room for only one 
grave more." 

" Certainly, " said Anthony ; (i she must not then 
be buiied here. Make the grave where vou please," 
said he, addressing- the grave-diggers, " only leave as 
much room as to suffer me to repose beside her ; " and 
then went away sobbing. 

" Shall we fill up the grave we have begun to dig, 
sir ? " asked the grave-diggers. 

" Leave it open till to-morrow," replied Strahl ; "you 
shall then hear further. " 

I silently accompanied him back to the house. On 
our arrival there, he took me by the hand, and said, 
<f It cannot be denied, that I am very impressively re- 
minded of my end to-day. I have seen how my own 
grave was being dug. I am alone in the world, child- 
less, and without relatives. You are a younger friend ; 
vou are become a son to me. I wish to communicate 
the experience of my life to you, in the hope that it 
mav be useful to you ; I wish to do it soon, in order 
to be able to do it at all. I now require some hours 
for recollection and prayer. But if you are desirous 
of listening to my legacy, you will find me under the 
elms, when it is evening. 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



233 



LETTER XXXIX. 

I repaired in the evening to the spot pointed out. 
The sun, about to set, again drew around it a dark 
mass of clouds. The air was still sultry and oppres- 
sive. An ominous and melancholy calm extended it- 
self over the whole district. It was not long before 
Strahl appeared ; his gait and his motions betrayed a 
debility and weakness, which terrified me. Replaced 
himself opposite me, and after drawing his breath 
deeply a few times, he thus began : — 

" I have just been holding much converse with God, 
concerning my sins and imperfections ; and his grace 
has powerfully strengthened my faith in my Saviour. 
I wish to speak with you, my dear young friend, re- 
specting the efforts which I have continued to make 
for a series of years, and which have for their object 
the dying to the world and the living to Christ. There 
is no other aim for a true disciple of Jesus ; nor ought 
you, who are also one of his disciples, to have any 
other. It is true, you will not be conducted upon the 
same path. We may die to the world and ourselves 
as well actively as passively, and in the midst of social 
connections, as well as in solitude. The experience 
Q 



234 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



however of another, though upon a different path, may 
be serviceable to you." 

" But not at present/' exclaimed I, rising from my 
seat. "Another time! Speaking costs you at pre- 
sent too great an effort ; you will not be able to bear 
it." 

He beckoned to me in a friendly manner to resume 
my seat, and said, "If it be the Lord's will that I 
should speak, as it appears to me to be the case, he 
will also give me strength to do so." He then con- 
tinued as follows ; — 

" I did not attain to faith by means of a sudden and 
agitating transition, as in your case. It sprang up in 
me, in my earliest years, and I cannot remember any 
period in which I have been unfaithful to it. Though 
its manifestations were extremely weak during the 
period of childhood and youth, yet it was never 
really shaken or injured. I even preserved it at the 
university, where so many lose it, who bring it from 
home with them. Under the Divine guidance, every 
circumstance turned out favourably for me ; a congre- 
gation in the country wished to have me for their pas- 
tor, whilst I was still very young. From this situa- 
tion, I was called away to the principal chinch in the 
metropolis. I cherished a wish to enter into the 
marriage state, which terminated, however, in a dis- 



LETTER XXXIX. 



235 



appointment ; and the dreadful pain it occasioned me, 
ever after prevented the desire for matrimonial happi- 
ness from rising in my. heart. 

(( A Protestant clergyman is exposed, in this coun- 
try, to many temptations, to earthly mindedness, and 
a worldly mode of life. At least, such was the case 
with me ; I know not whether the fault lay more in 
the circumstances in which I was placed, or in my 
own weakness. The esteem which is shown to the 
Catholic clergyman, merely on account of his office, 
must be personally acquired by the Protestants. Above 
all things, it is requisite that he be a good orator ; and 
this is no easy matter. It is difficult to exercise one's 
self in every thing needful to render one a good rhe- 
torician ; who is able to do it, who likes to do it. who 
has sufficient leisure for it ? It is more easy to please 
and make an impression ; and if this be our chief ob- 
ject, we have certainly taken a very ungodly direction. 
If we succeed, we are in danger of growing proud ; if 
not, our fraternal affection towards those who are 
more successful is put to a severe test. 

"The Protestant clergyman, in order to gain 
esteem, is further in need of learning. I honour it, 
only I should not like that it should ever be made 
subservient to this object ; and least of all by a cler- 
gyman. Yet it is necessary for him to have sent 
some essays to a theological periodical, and he must 



236 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



at least have published a volume of sermons. The 
question then is, what have the reviewers said of his 
Vbours. He reads many of the periodicals of the 
day — to read ah would be impossible. He there rinds 
himself abused : a friend draws his attention to an 
unfavourable judgment, which perhaps would other- 
wise have happily escaped him ; and now the peace of 
his mind is for a long time disturbed. 

is The .Protestant clergyman is particularly looked 
up to. when he is at the same time a member of an 
ecclesiastical court, and possesses an influence on the 
affairs of the church, not only by serving and obev- 
but also by ordering and superintending. How 
easilv, in such a situation, is he torn away by the 
mmtiplicitv of external cares and affairs, from that 
collectedness of mind which is so needful to him ! 
And supposing, that to the ambition of the orator 
and the man of learriing, that of a man of business 
were superadded r Suppose him powerfully impelled 
bv the desire of wearing on his breast the risible sign 
of his merits and their acknowledgment ? Would not 
the striving for the heavenly crown be paralyzed bv 
the longing after the temporary honours, with which 
the mighty of the earth adorn themselves ? 

- The clergyman is intended to be a pastor., and 
his vocation is the care of souls. It is wrong to 
maintain, that in Protestant congregations there are 



LETTER XXXIX. 



237 



fewer opportunities of exercising this office ; I know 
from experience that they are very frequent. But it 
cannot be denied, that the majority of his flock lay 
less claim to his pastoral care for their souls, than to 
his social gifts, when thev esteem him. They make 
him a friend of the family, and the companion of 
their festivities. And as there is nothing in the pre- 
sent day which is not conversed upon in polished cir- 
cles, the man must also know everything, to be able 
to pass a well-matured opinion on every subject. 
Such a situation is certainly critical, and unless the 
individual is much upon his guard, leads to a great 
removal from God. 

:< I had only yielded too much to these temptations, 
and had consequently fallen into a lamentable condi- 
tion. My heart was torn asunder, and in its recesses 
a gloomy sadness dwelt. T \\ no has ever found happi- 
ness in the world ; and how should I rind it there, who 
was conscious, and taught my hearers from my own 
conviction, that it was only to be found in God : I 
was anxious that the Lord should at length take pos- 
session of my whole heart; but this did not ensue, 
perhaps because I thought onlv of the rest I thereby 
hoped to attain, and not of my duty and the honour of 
God. How I envied a Paul and an Augustine, whose 
hearts were entirely changed at the moment of their 
conversion ! How I was grieved at myself, that the 



238 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



world, although I believed in the Lord as they did, 
should yet have so much hold upon me, and still be 
able to torment me so dreadfully ! 

!C Sometimes however it seemed to me,[that we must 
beware of carrying self denial to excess ; and I was 
zealous against those, who, in my opinion, went too 
far in this respect. On one occasion, I accidentally 
opened Fenelon's Principles of Spiritual Life, having 
bought the book at a sale, on account of its rarity ; 
and whilst reading respecting love to God, that it might 
still retain a mixture of self-love, although it ought 
to be entirely purified from it, I felt something not only 
of repugnance, but even of disgust. Similar feelings 
possessed me on reading some of the chapters in the 
' Imitation of Christ/ But assertions of the nature 
just mentioned, left a sting behind in my heart, and 
I w T as compelled, in some measure by my disgust, 
always to take up the book again, which I had thrown 
a?ide. But of what avail was it to oppose human 
authority to such a doctrine ? The words of Scripture 
were sufficiently clear, iS that we must forsake all to 
follow Christ/ I sought in vain to conceal from 
myself the mighty extent of this requirement, and 
began gradually to prepare for its fulfilment. 

(< Whilst I devoted myself with more ardour than 
ever to my pastoral duties, I retired by degrees from 
every connection which had no reference to them ; 



LETTER XXXIX. 



239 



and as no wish was so easily granted to such an 
inconsiderable person as myself, as that of "being left 
alone, I soon found myself in a lonely situation. I 
prolonged the time which I devoted to prayer before 
God ; and endeavoured besides, as far as each occu- 
pation permitted, to set him continually before me. 
My object was to establish the Lord in the place 
of self, to sink into which I was but too much in- 
clined. I did not permit myself to think of myself 
any further than the regulation of my affairs made it 
indispensable. I bestowed, it is true, much labour 
on my public discourses before they were preached ; 
but afterwards, I repeUed every remembrance of them ; 
I did not even permit myself to be dissatisfied with 
them, because much vanity may he in so doing. 

"1 should, however, have accomplished little by these 
means, if the Lord, whom I invoked, had not come to 
my assistance. One night, when it was already late, 
I had been considering, with particular seriousness, 
the Lord's command to forsake everything and follow 
him ; and deeply affected by the consciousness of the 
total absence of strength for that purpose, I broke 
out into the following prayer :— ' Lord, thou desirest 
the possession of my heart, and I desire to give it 
thee ; but do thou tear it away from myself and the 
world, for I am unable to give it thee ! ' Since that 
time, the Lord seemed to take up the matter himself, 



240 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



in order to fulfil my request in a more comprehensive 
manner than I had intended. His dealings with me 
were severe and painful, as they are always wont to be 
in such cases ; as you also, my dear young friend, 
have still to expect in the seasons of purification which 
await you. 

" The success of my ministerial labours afforded me 
particular satisfaction. This pleasure seemed to me per- 
fectly harmless — nay, it appeared to mingle together 
with my love to the Lord, for whose glory I laboured ; 
and yet self-love had in this perhaps its most dange- 
rous seat. I was attacked upon this very point. The 
blessing which had previously accompanied my labours, 
vanished at least from my perceptions. The progress 
of the kingdom of God stagnated in my vicinity ; 
whatever I said or undertook, was attended with no 
result; and whilst the common-place language of 
worldly wisdom, uttered by others, produced the most 
salutary effects, the most powerful motives of the 
Christian faith, as soon as I urged them, remained 
fruitless. I felt I was nothing ; that my powers and 
even my faith might continue useless ; and that God, 
by another in my place, as soon as he granted 
him his blessing, could accomplish more than by 
my means. This was a dreadfully humiliating dis- 
covery. 

11 I began also to suffer from bodily indisposition. 



LETTER XXXIX. 



241 



There are diseases, which, though they often terminate 
fatallv, are not infrequently followed by a rapid and 
entire restoration of the mental and bodily powers. 
There are other diseases, of which we die. not only 
once, but dailv ; which gradually destroy the strength, 
even as the ivy winds itself so closely about the tree, 
until at length the latter is destroyed by it ; and which, 
by the connection betwen body and soul, extend their 
painful influence also to the latter. Mine was of this 
nature. Every breath I drew, and every step I took, 
caused me pain ; and my thoughts burst forth onlv 
wearisomely from the darkness in which my mind 
was enveloped. In this state, I was also visited by 
painful inward temptations. You have experienced 
something similar previous to your conversion ; but, 
believe what I say, it may perhaps be serviceable to 
you in future : even a penitent and believing heart 
may be tried, by Divine permission, by this torture. 
Horrible images stood before my eyes : dreadful 
thoughts crossed my mind : and a terrible agitation 
raged within. These attacks were the most severe, 
just at those times when the believing: mind thought 
it might promise itself the most refreshment. Thev 
began at Christmas, and reached their height at 
Easter. Oh ! by what fearful horrors have I been 
frequently tormented at this glorious festival, where 
nothing but joy and gladness pervade the whole 



242 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



Christian world ! Scarcely ever was I able to rejoice 
at the return of Spring, in consequence of the great 
and inward pain I experienced. In a little poem, I 
once expressed myself on this subject as follows : 

Now Spring appear?, and in her joyful train, 
A thousand pleasures dance upon the plain ; 
Hill, wood, and dale with varied beauty vie, 
The heart to gladden, and to charm the eye. 

Z\o more by such a pleasing scene I'm cheer' d ; 
For many blossoms once in me appear'd. 
But now what blooms, but anguish of the mind? 
What flourishes, but pain and grief combin'd ? 

And be it so ; for soon shall fade away 

The blossoms which now open to the day. 

They fall, decaying, ne'er to rise again. 

And vanish, when the wind sweeps o'er the plain. 

But that fair bloom which inwardly expands 
And flourishes, bedewed by gracious hands, 
Shall fruit produce in a superior sphere, 
When all below shall fade and disappear. 

" These fruits they also really yielded even here below. 
Such temptations as these may lead to insanity, if 
anxiously and violently struggled against. From the 
writings which treat of the inward life, I had learnt 
a better remedy for them, the application of which, 
by Divine grace, did not prove unsuccessful. I 
gently and quietly resigned myself to these torments, 
whilst saying to the Lord, ' If it be thy will, that I 



LETTER XXXIX. 



243 



am tormented, it shall be my will also. 5 I quietly 
turned away my eyes from the horrible imagery that 
presented itself to them, whilst seeking to acquire a 
sight of the crucified Saviour, and retain the contem- 
plation. Certainly, this did not consist of a conscious 
series of ideas and feelings, but in an almost uncon- 
scious inward cry, which was directed to the Lord, 
by which means, however, the firmest bonds were 
formed with him. When my distress was very great, 
I have frequently been able to retain him present 
with me for whole days together without interruption ; 
I did not succeed in doing so, in seasons of repose ; 
and hence I soon ceased to be afraid of that state — 
nay I was compelled to love it, because I felt that I 
was so powerfully torn away by it from connection 
with the world, and driven to the Lord. 

f ' The more I inwardly experienced the necessity of 
forsaking all for Christ's sake, the more I began to 
insist upon it in my public discourses. The deeply 
affected state of my mind could not be entirely con- 
cealed on these occasions ; and manifested itself in a 
greater degree than I was aware or desired, in the 
selection and treatment of the subjects of my sermons, 
and in the language and expressions I employed. 
If previously I had striven with almost too much 
anxiety to express myself with perspicuity and in a 
connected manner, I now often let myself be carrie 



244 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



away by my feelings, without inquiring whither they 
would lead me. Those who attended my church, 
observed this alteration, but without expressing them- 
selves unfavourably respecting it. People are always 
attracted by an unwonted manifestation of feeling, 
even though it seems to them as if it proceeded from 
something of a morbid nature ; nor are they alarmed, 
if, in the exposition of the word of God, its severe 
requirements are urged ; for they are, alas ! accustomed 
to abate the half of them before-hand. But the 
attention of the office-bearers of the church was 
drawn to it ; they found that my discourses had taken 
what they called a mystic tendency ; the only question 
was, whether that which was thus termed, did not, 
in this case, coincide with what was purely scriptural 
and spiritual. 

" The elders of the church being much prejudiced 
against anything of such a nature, but unwilling to 
take any other than lenient measures, a retirement 
into a state of quiescence was proposed to me on 
favourable and honourable conditions, in consideration 
of my age and indisposition. Perhaps I ought to 
have rejected this proposal, the object of which did 
not escape me, and have continued in my situation ' 
till the end. But I was of opinion, whether correctly ] 
or incorrectly, that if I removed from the connections j 
in which I had hitherto lived, the accomplishment of , 



LETTER XXXIX. 



245 



ray purpose to die to the world in order to live to 
Christ; would prove the less difficult. I therefore 
accepted the offer with joy; on the condition, however, 
that I should not be placed in a state of inactivity, 
but in a more limited sphere of labour. This living 
was vacant ; I obtained it ; I was quickly settled 
here, and my place in the metropolis was as quickly 
occupied by an able successor. 

" O my friend, who is able to fathom his own 
heart ? Whilst I imagined I was exercising nothing 
but humility and self-denial, I cherished thoughts of 
self-love and vanity. T imagined I had excited an 
eternal memorial to myself in the recollections of the 
members of my congregation ; and with the pain I 
felt at leaving them, I comforted myself with the 
hope that they would not part from me without 
similar emotions. I was mistaken and undeceived. 
The manner in which the latter was effected, proved 
to be the severest, but at the same time the most salu- 
tarv of the remedies which the Lord in his mercy ever 
applied to me. In order to regulate some affairs, I 
was obliged to leave my present residence for a short 
time, and travel to the metropolis. I wished also to 
hear my successor preach, and had made my arrange- 
ments accordingly. On my entering the church, I 
found it already filled ; there was no longer any room 
left, either in the pews or the aisles ; and it was with 



246 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



difficulty that I found a place where I could stand, 
close to the farthest wall. The sermon deserved the 
highest commendation ; its genuine scriptural doctrine, 
founded on experience and the word of God. was 
developed with perspicuity, powei, energy, and origi- 
nality ; and enforced by a singular eloquence, which, 
without any attempt to recommend itself, served 
only to set oft Divine truth, and deepen its impression, 
I felt most profoundly pleased and edified ; and 
though compelled to admit that I was greatly excelled 
by my successor, yet I reflected upon the good will, 
and the fidelity which I had manifested for many years 
together, with reference to my congregation, and did 
not doubt but that they would even on that occasion, 
have gladly seen me in my place again. 

" When Divine worship was ended, it had begun to 
rain a little, which caused a delay in the departure oc 
the hearers. The crowd had earned me along with 
it as far as the pillar on which the porch rests ; on 
the other side of the pillar stood three persons, two 
men and a woman, who could not see me, but whose 
voices I recognised ; they were members of my church 
to whom I was much attached, and who in other 
respects were closely connected with me. c What a 
large congregation ! ' said the female. f Such an audi- 
tory,' said one of the men, ( om* old preacher never 
had.' ( He was in fact weak both in body and mind, 



LETTER XXXIX. 



247 



observed the other. - They even say/ added the 
first, ' that his religious principles were not the most 
correct.' ' Ah/ exclaimed the woman, : I should not 
have thought that ! ' 4 Yes/ said the man, ' I read 
it only lately in a journal; he was there accused 
of gross errors, even in the most important doctrines/ 
' Where is he at present ?' inquired the woman. * In 
the country/ replied one of the men. ' No/ said the 
other, ~ it is reported that he is dead/ ' Dead ? ' re- 
pined the woman ; ' is he really ! ' 

c< This conversation, which I was compelled to hear 
against my will, deeply wounded and mortified me. 
The rain was over, the multitude flowed out and dis- 
persed. I stood before my church, and amongst my 
people, as in a desert. I still longed for human con- 
solation, although what I had just experienced, ought 
to have divested me of this weakness. Not far from 
the church dwelt a rich merchant, w T ith whose family 
I had stood, in my ministerial capacity, in the closest 
connection. The lady, who had formerly been my 
diligent hearer, was easily excited by pious feelings, 
and not incapable of Christian enthusiasm. Her 
eldest daughter had been confirmed by me only a 
short time before. I resolved to repair thither, in the 
hope, though I could not make it obvious to myself, 
that they would manifest a pleasure in seeing me 
again, and a regret at my removal. I must also 



248 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



confess to you another of my weaknesses : I have 
always been very loath to dine alone, and I hoped 
that I should be invited to dinner. 

(< The house door was open ; the carriage stood under 
the gateway ; I squeezed my slender form with diffi- 
culty past the gigantic black horses, and ascended the 
steps. The lady of the house was just hastening down 
stairs with her cloak hying behind her, but on seeing 
me, stopped before me, and without any salutation, 
or waiting for any explanation with respect to my 
appearing there, exclaimed, ' Have you heard the 
sermon this morning r What do you say to it ? 5 'I 
think it very excellent/ answered I. 6 Oh it was 
a precious sermon, a heavenly sermon, a Divine ser- 
mon ! ' exclaimed the lady, ■ I must go to the dear 
man, and express the deep-felt gratitude of my heart. 
Xo, such a sermon as that I never heard before/ 
With these words she rushed down the steps, and 
into the carnage, followed by her daughter, who has- 
tened past me, with a polite inclination of the head, 
and seated herself beside her. The carriage rolled 
away ; I also went out of the gateway, and had almost 
been crushed between the gates by the porter, who 
paid as little attention to me as his mistress had done. 

" I therefore returned to my inn, where I took my 
scant}- meal alone. In the afternoon, the weather had 
become very fine. A countless multitude on foot, on 



LETTER XXXIX. 



249 



horseback, and in carriages, crowded through the 
gate, near which the inn was situate, into the country. 
Amidst the noise which they occasioned, and which 
greatly disturbed me, I sat at the window, supporting 
mv head with my hand, and struggling with the pain- 
ful consciousness of having so suddenly lost all con- 
sideration in the eyes of those to whom I had lately 
stood in such a manifold important connection. ' Vain 
heart ! ' exclaimed I at length, ' thou hast been seek- 
ing for years together to tear thyself away from the 
world, and now, when the indifference of mankind 
favours this effort, thou despondest. Love these 
people as before, and even more than before — thou 
art not dependent upon them ; but cease to desire 
love and esteem from them ; for this alone renders 
thee their slave. They suppose thou hast been of no 
use to them ; bear it ; nay, confess that they are in the 
right ; confess that thou hast really been of no ser- 
vice to them. Part from them in the entire feeling 
of thy nothingness, for in this alone canst thou find 
liberty ! ' 

" Thus I struggled for hours together ; I endeavoured 
to burst the bond which held me fast, and by God's 
grace I at length succeeded. Oh could I describe to 
you the peace which then pervaded my heart, and 
how happy and blissful I felt ! Even the intolerable 
noise in the street, which continued till late in the 

R 



250 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



evening, sounded tranqiiillizingly in my ear, nor did 
it banish sleep, which encircled me with its beneficial 
influence. 

" Thus does a dying man lie upon some rock in the 
boundless ocean, upon which the waves have cast him, 
after suffering shipwreck. ^Yhilst he still hoped that 
some vessel would approach, and take him on board ; 
whilst the idea of his house hovered before him, where 
his wife and children were awaiting him in the well- 
known apartment — the ceaseless rolling of the waves 
around him seemed dreadfully spectral to him, and 
their thundering noise sounded horribly in his ear. 
But he has now given up the hope that anv vessel 
will approach : and should one come, it would find 
him a wasted corpse. Before his breaking eye the 
image of his house, his wife, and his children disap- 
pear ; angels, who hover invisibly past him and touch his 
forehead with their branches of palm, open out to him 
a prospect of the eternal mansions. The breaking of 
the waves then presents itself to him like the gambols 
of children, and their roar has subsided into a cradle - 
song, during which he gently falls asleep." 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



251 



LETTER XL. 

•'The next morning," continued Strahl, " I awoke 
with an indescribably happy feeling. I took my seat 
in the carriage, in order to return hither. The joyful 
emotion of my heart was so great* that I traversed 
large portions of the way on foot, with all the energy 
of youth — nay, I might almost say, exulting and leap- 
ing. * O my God ! ' I exclaimed, ' O my Redeemer ! 
my heart has been so long divided between the world 
and thee ! I will now love thee alone, and live to 
thee alone ! At length, at length ; it is now high 
time. Graciously enable me, before I die, to spend 
at least one day entirely according to thy will ! 5 

"After my return hither, I continued my poor labours, 
with the resolution, if possible, to divest myself of 
every thought of myself in them. In this, I confess 
I was much favoured by circumstances. Was it to be 
expected that the good people here would praise my 
oratory ? Could I hope that they, in whose service I 
devote the weak remains of my powers, would love me 
and think of me, when others, to whom I had dedicated 
the flower of my years, forgot me so rapidly ? When 
I address them, their presence often vanishes entirely 
from my view, and the feeling of the presence of God, 



252 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT, 



who commands me to speak, fills my whole soul. Oh 
if I could always have preached in such a manner ! 
When I wish, as is certainly the case, that my labours 
amongst them may not continue fruitless, I am care- 
ful that self-seeking, after having given up the wish 
to be applauded, does not seek compensation by the 
prospect of success. Why should my labours succeed, 
since so many others, who are better than I, have been 
unsuccessful ? Why should I regard myself as an in- 
strument of which God must necessarily make use ? 
In order to love him, we must be like a ball, which 
rolls according to the inclination of the plane, on 
which his hand has placed it, but which does not 
trouble itself whether anything is accomplished by it 
or not. 

"A wish also, which I had always cherished, was now 
at least brought nearer its fulfilment — that of being 
able to pray. Do not misunderstand me, my dear 
friend ! I have prayed from my childhood up ; but 
there is such a great difference in the several kinds 
of prayer. Prayer is the converse of love with the 
ever-present God ; how defectively must he pray, who 
loves God only a little, and to whom he is seldom pre- 
sent ! Formerly the consciousness of his presence 
was so often withdrawn from me, by the disturbance 
of a city life, by the rapid revolution of urgent occu- 
pations, or rather — to confess the truth— by self, which 



LETTER XL. 



253 



took possession of my consciousness in his place. I 
had read much upon converse with God, and had my- 
self experienced something of it ; I had also preached 
upon it not unfrequently ; but I had not yet attained 
to that intercourse, which, though more difficult in 
my previous situation, was not impracticable. I may 
now assert with truth, that I spend many days in his 
presence without intermission. As soon as the sun 
arises yonder, behind my church, he stands before me, 
more beautiful and glorious than that bright luminary ; 
he accompanies me, until it disappears in the evening 
behind the river and the hills ; nor does he leave me, 
even during the night. Every position which my soul 
occupies with reference to him, is a prayer ; and these 
positions are certainly various in their kind. 

"If there be no feeling in my heart that desires to 
be poured out before him, I have recourse to some ob- 
ject of reflection, as offered me either by Scripture, 
the testimonies of pious men, or the activity of my own 
mind. I collect my powers to the consideration of 
this object ; I let my thoughts develope themselves 
upon it ; I follow them in the various directions they 
take; I enter into a variety of investigations ; I write, 
I read, but in such a manner, that during these em- 
ployments I repeatedly look up to the Lord, and place 
every thing in connection with him and with his glory. 
Frequently this constitutes my sole occupation ; and I 



254 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



am then also satisfied with it, and regard it as a good 
prayer, and acceptable to God. 

" But the materials, the fervour, and the ecstacy* 
often accumulate to such a degree as to repel every 
occupation ; and then the impulse alone is felt to 
cleave closely to the Lord, and to impart myself to 
him. This inclination must be speedily followed, 
before it passes away ; nor can we easily do anything 
better, unless it were the fulfilment of some charita- 
ble duty towards our neighbour. At the commence- 
ment of this effusion of the soul, thoughts and feel- 
ings at first attach themselves to each other in a cer- 
tain order, whilst passing from the mourning over our 
daily inward and outward distress, to thankfulness 
for the deliverance already received, and from the 
confession of sin to the praise of the righteousness 
purchased for us by the atonement of Christ. But 
the Spirit which prays within us, soon lays aside the 
natural order, according to which our faculties ope- 
rate, for the purpose of connecting our ideas with the 
superior laws which he himself imparts. We are 
then wonderfully borne from earth to heaven, and to 
the vision of blessedness ; from thence back to earth, 
to our misery and our sins ; from pain to joy, and 
from pleasure to pain ; from the present back into the 
past, and forward into the future, and from ourselves 
to that which lies at the greatest distance from us. 



LETTER XL. 



255 



This state never lasted very long with me. When 
it is over, I very gladly return to those inferior 
employments with which I had commenced, in order 
to fill my spirit anew, and prepare it for higher emo- 
tions. 

" In prayer also, I am occasionally placed in a state 
of extreme simplicity, in which all consciousness of 
progress in thinking and feeling ceases. Then it 
seems to me, as if the whole world sank around me, 
and as if I were enveloped in thick darkness. But 
in this obscurity, a light kindles, which shines more 
and more brightly, and to which I then turn my eyes. 
This light is sometimes formless infinity ; but it is 
equally as often the sacred humanity of Jesus Christ 
in its celestial glorification, or else in its painful humi- 
liation on earth. Although the latter can only be 
viewed under distinct forms, yet it is entirely equal 
in dignity with the formless infinity I have just men- 
tioned; nay, there is probably no spiritual vision 
superior to that of the Lord on the cross. In this 
state, I think indeed, but not in the usual manner ; 
and though I feel, yet it is not in the customary way. 
The faculties we require for the business of the pre- 
sent life, appear to repose, and another faculty seems 
to operate, which is destined for the circumstances of 
a superior life. It is distinguished from the rest bv 
this, that the former divide and dissolve everything. 



256 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



in order to combine them again ; whilst the latter 
beholds everything in a lucid view, without dissolu- 
tion, separation, or succession. What is then felt is 
-neither delight nor rapture, nor can be described bv 
any expressions which are borrowed from impressions 
of the senses. It might be said, that the individual 
has found a rest, which is the entrance into the rest 
of God. It is only seldom that I have attained in 
prayer to this superior rest ; it is a pure gift of God's 
free grace, which no one ought to desire, no one arbi- 
trarily strive after, and of which no one who receives it 
dare boast. 

" With the exception perhaps of what I have just 
told you, you will hear nothing new from me, or 
what you do not already know. On the whole, none 
of those who have taken the same direction as my- 
self, ever boasted of being in possession of superior 
and more unwonted mysteries. Our great mystery, 
which in other respects is sufficiently obvious to every 
one, and which is displayed on every page of Scrip- 
ture, is, that in order to love God, the world and 
self must be denied without sparing. We know 
nothing — I, at least, know nothing, and am deter- 
mined to know nothing — but what the Scriptures teach 
in a clear and obvious manner. Were an angel to 
come for the purpose of bringing me new revelations,. 
I would say to him, ' Do not now disturb me ; for 



LETTER XL. 



257 



how am I to know whether thou hast emanated from 
the light or the darkness ?' I would not even once 
have mentioned this elevated state of prayer, if Paul, 
whilst assuring 1 us that he had been caught up into 
the third heaven, had not testified that it is only a 
good spirit which translates us into similar states. 

" A constant elevation of mind and feeling is said 
to be connected with the contemplative life ; at least 
this is asserted by those who are strangers to this 
life ; and they are wont to accuse us, who strive to 
lead it, of a self-seeking effort after unusual spiritual 
sweetnesses. I have occasionally experienced such 
transports. Yes, I must confess that my heart has 
sometimes been so full of superabundant jov, that I 
have been compelled unceasingly to exclaim, ' Lord, 
for what more shall I ask thee ? Thou hast already 
given me all ! Thou hast never left any of my 
requests unanswered !' But I have never been able 
fully to rejoice in this joy, because it remains uncer- 
tain whether it is of earthly or heavenly origin, since 
it is certainly never very favourable to humility. I 
have also very seldom enjoyed it. My customary 
frame is that of an abstract peace, which is often 
exchanged for profound sorrow. Now I should be 
glad to know what particular enjoyment self-seeking 
can find in this ? But I willingly endure the greatest 
barrenness and contrition of spirit, as soon as I am 



258 



CONFESSIONS OP ADALBERT. 



conscious of not having brought them upon me, by 
removing from the Lord. I am then perfectly satis- 
fied with this frame of mind which he sends me, and 
which cannot be therefore any other than good. 
Regarding these changes in the inward state, I once 
expressed myself in the following lines : — 

Oft into the heart descends 

A heaven of purity and joy ; 
Then the spirit upwards tends, 

As soars the eagle to the sky ; 
And the soul, by God caress'd, 
Tastes the raptures of the blest. 

Then again, a grief profound 
Involves the heart in shades of night ; 

And the spirit looks around 

Upon itself with shame and fright ; 

Longing still the bliss to taste, 

Which it daily once possess'd. 

From the higher spheres of light, 
Where grace alone the sceptre bears, 

Which to fit us for the sight, 
By turns delights and causes tears — 

Comes — which no one can explain — 

Both this pleasure and this pain. 

Both these streams of joy and woe 

Already through this heart have flowed, 

Which in true devotion's glow, 

At times arose towards Heaven and God ; 



LETTER XL. 



259 



Or in darkness sank again, 
Bleeding in mysterious pain. 

Which is better then, to be 

In suffering or in ecstacy ? 
Dearest Lord, for whom I pine, 

If only thou continue mine, 
Come what will, I'll ne'er complain, 
Be it pleasure — be it pain. 

I have thought, my dear young friend, that you 
would not slight the words of an old man who loves 
you, and would gladly be of service to you ; I have 
therefore spoken to you with a prolixity which my 
years must excuse, and I have been unwilling to 
delay making this communication, because the time 
of your departure is near, and that of my dissolution 
perhaps still nearer. You are yet young, and, if the 
Lord permit, will still sojourn along time here below. 
Having become reconciled with God, you will also 
find the world reconcilable, with which you had 
quarrelled ; and if my presentiment does not deceive 
me, you will find all your expectations, with regard to 
the future, exceeded by the favour of the Lord. 
Upon whatever career you may enter — whether that of 
an active life, or of learning and science — I beseech 
you, do not delay as long as I delayed, bringing the 
Lord the sacrifice of your whole heart. Do not fall 
into the delusion of so many pious men, who serve 



260 



CONFESSIONS OP ADALBERT. 



him, in order by so doing to derive the greater 
advantage from the world. Think of this evening 
hour, in which I testify to you, that he who desires 
to love God, must love him with an entirely pure and 
disinterested love. Let us mutually love each other 
in him. He is omnipresent and everywhere ; where- 
ever we may be, we shall be united in him. 

" Affection for you, my dear young friend, has 
afforded me strength to say thus much. They are 
the words of one about to depart. I have uttered 
them as one whom the opened sepulchre already 
awaits. The bonds which fettered me to earth are 
dissolved ; for I desire nothing more from it, and 
hence it is easy for me to leave it. I do not indeed 
impetuously long to be absent from it. Why should 
I not gladly linger here, where the Lord cherishes me 
so kindly, and daily grants me to walk by his side ? 
It is beautiful here ; but there it is still more so. Oh 
what radiance shines from yonder heavens ! What a 
ray of joy does the eternal sun cast into my heart! 
Never to sin any more — never to pollute myself by 
any impure thought — ever to burn in the purest love — 
to live entirely in him — to lose myself wholly in the 
contemplation of his glory — this attracts me power- 
fully — he will pardon me, if I exclaim, ' Come, O 
Lord ! yea come quickly, Lord Jesus V " 

Strahl had uttered these last words with a visible 



LETTER XL. 



261 



effort, a faultering voice, and increasingly long pauses 
for the purpose of taking breath. When he had 
ended, he breathed once more, slowly and deeply, and, 
as it seemed, without difficulty ; he then reclined his 
head upon his breast. The sun was already set, and 
another rising storm clothed the heavens with black- 
ness. The thunder had already been rolling for some 
time, and lightnings flashed occasionally through the 
darkness. They rent the clouds, and formed large 
flaming openings, just as if to afford a glimpse of the 
other world from this. Large drops of rain, which 
admonished us to return home, fell pattering upon the 
leaves of the elms. Deeply affected, I rose, and 
seized one of Strahl's folded hands, in order to press 
it to my heart : on letting it go, it sank down, and 
remained motionless at his side. I became alarmed, 
felt his forehead, and was terrified on finding it icy 
cold. In the distress of my heart I fell down before 
him, embraced his knees, thanked him, called him 
my friend and father, and conjured him to reply — but 
in vain ; I could not induce him to utter a sound. 
An apoplexy had terminated his life ; or rather the 
Lord, whose name he had uttered with the last tones 
of his voice, had come to call away his faithful disci,- 
pie, and conduct him along with him into the kingdom 
of his joy. 



262 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



My cries brought to me the old servant man ; who, 
on learning what had happened, brake out into loud 
lamentations. He then dried his tears, and said, " My 
good master is now where he so long wished to be ; I 
will not envy him his happiness.' ' We then carried 
the corpse of the beloved departed, into the house, and 
laid it upon the couch, which, when sick, he was wont 
to use. We closed his eyes, and laid his hands again 
folded upon his breast. The servant then brought in 
candles and a Bible. We prayed, each for himself, and 
read aloud in rotation passages of Scripture upon death, 
redemption, and immortality. Without, raged the 
thunder ; and I could not help feeling pleasure, whilst 
contemplating the tranquil countenance of my deceased 
friend, that his wish to ascend to heaven in a chariot 
of flame was fulfilled, and that the earth with its storms 
lay for ever under his feet. 

The next morning, the elders of the church appeared, 
to whom I related, with deep emotion, how their pas- 
tor, after having calmly borne testimony to that which 
the Lord can effect in the soul, and after calling upon 
his name, had departed this life. On which, they 
conferred in my presence respecting the solemnities to 
be observed at the interment. " It grieves us/' said 
they, " but there will be no one present who can give 
a funeral address on the occasion. We are surrounded 
by Catholics ; and if we were to send to a Protestant 



LETTER XL. 



263 



clergyman, the nearest is so far from us, that he would 
not arrive at the proper time." 

" Do not trouble yourselves on that account/' said 
I to them. " I know your late pastor's mode of think- 
ing, and am convinced, that if he had made any 
arrangements respecting his interment, he would po- 
sitively have forbidden and prohibited any panegyric 
or funeral sermon. My advice is, that the coffin be 
carried by you to its resting-place, whilst the bells are 
tolling ; and that, on lowering it into the grave, a hymn 
be sung by those present. They were satisfied with 
this arrangement, and left the choice of the hymns 
and verses to me. 

The interment took place on the fifth day. The 
bells tolled, the elders carried the coffin, the heads of 
families followed, who were joined by myself and the 
old servant. The whole congregation had assembled 
in the church-yard. Anthony, whose betrothed al- 
ready reposed under the linden-tree, stood beneath 
the elder, and looked down into the open grave. A 
hedge sparrow continued to sing without intermission 
in its branches, and did not let itself be disturbed bv 
the movement of the crowd. The coffin was lowered 
down, and a verse was sung, which I had selected from 
one of Paul Gerhard's hymns. At the words, 

When I must hence depart, 
Depart not, Lord ! from me, — . 



264 



CONFESSIONS OF ADALBERT. 



I felt so overpowered by an ardent desire to experience 
the nearness of the Redeemer, that I sank unconsci- 
ously on my knees, and pressed my forehead against 
the loose earth which was thrown up round the grave. 
Anthony first and then all present, followed my ex- 
ample ; so that the church-yard was covered with 
kneeling Christians . Dunn g the p auses hi the smgin g . 
I heard nothing hut loud sobbing and weeping. " Be- 
loved friend/' thought I, " this is more to your mind 
than if a brother clergyman had praised you most elo- 
quently ! ' ' 

I am just returned from his grave. I have taken 
leave of it, and have ordered a simple monument to be 
erected. The recollection of mv dear departed friend 
will ever accompany me. He did not belong to those 
whom the Christian faith endues with heroic strength 
in the outward circumstances of life. But his firm 
resolution to die to the world, in order to live to Christ, 
and his striving to attain this object with such perse- 
verance, certainly testified of a great and heroic inward 
courage. This aim, which he has set before me in his 
ever-memorable parting address, shall also be mine ; 
and may the Lord enable me to press towards it with 
perseverance ! 



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